Savoring Sanguine
by redisthenewblackington
Summary: Lizzie secretly has lexical-gustatory synesthesia, a condition that causes certain sounds to be accompanied by specific tastes, scents, and textures. She uses it to her advantage, learning things about herself from Red's voice as they push, pull, and eventually come together. Lizzington.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hello, readers! This fic is a bit different from everything else I've written, so I'm hoping that fortune favors the bold here. Please let me know what you think! If you have any suggestions, I'm all ears (or eyes?). In any event, thank you for reading.

Disclaimer - I own nothing and gain no monetary profit, but I do love to borrow these characters.

-...-...-

Prologue

From a very early age, Elizabeth Keen has understood that secrets are a universal form of currency, and that none are more valuable than the ones kept safely guarded. She coveted and hoarded secrets, both hers and those of other people, and knew better than to assume that they'd be given up easily. Whenever she met a new person, her first order of business was always to figure out what hid beneath their skin.

It all boiled down to this: What colors their perception? What do they value most? Who do they trust, and how can she emulate them? More simply put, who are they, really?

From there, it was usually easy enough for her to reach down and pluck the secrets from a person's deepest, darkest depths. The harder she had to work to understand someone, the more she liked them. In her mind, there's no insult greater than being labeled 'shallow'.

This strange compulsion first became the foundation of Liz's social development, and later lead to her career as a criminal profiler.

Her father, Sam, wouldn't have described her as a troublemaker, and in most regards, she wasn't. Nonetheless, as a teenager, it was among the misfits and the artists that she tried to carve a niche for herself. She envied their creative joie de vivre and enjoyed surreptitiously picking their brains. While her self-esteem wasn't terribly lacking, she did lament her own lack of creativity.

Fortunately, she had other considerable talents.

Over the years, she mentally stacked the secrets, one by one, into the shape of a pyramid. At the very top sat the most prized and closely-guarded of them all - the only one known by no one else in the world. It wasn't a bad secret. It wasn't dark, illegal, or even embarrassing. No.

It was special, and it was an asset that when combined with her other compulsions, provided an edge over everyone else, especially at work.

Her's is an overwhelmingly-sensuous world. Smell, taste, sound, and sometimes even touch, rather than running parallel to each other, instead intersect on occasion. An immense variety of sounds come accompanied by distinct tastes, scents, and sometimes even temperatures or textures. Street traffic tastes like black licorice. Country music tastes like buttery corn on the cob. "Elizabeth," when spoken by her father, smelled like Marlboro cigarettes and tasted like water from a garden hose.

In the same way that 'normal' people crave their favorite foods, Liz craves certain sounds. Much to her chagrin, most of her cravings were tied to the various sounds made by Raymond Reddington. From his lips, "Lizzie" has the taste and effervescence of cherry cola. "Elizabeth" tastes like white chocolate and has the sticky viscosity of molasses. When she says his name, it tastes of strawberry gelato and has the unexpected texture of coarse seasalt. When he says it, hot cinnamon and the scent of honeysuckle. Even the edge of certain emotions in his voice conjures their own sensuous responses. Red's anger is burnt popcorn sticking to the back of her throat. His low, seductive tone, a knee-weakening clover honey and hot apple cider.

Her secret has both a name and a physiological explanation. Lexical-Gustatory Synesthesia.

The tastes and scents provoked by LGS are limited to things experienced during childhood, while the brain is still rapidly developing. For this reason, they're always immediately recognizable, and often accompanied by a twinge of nostalgia.

All except one, for Liz: An edge of fear in Red's voice. It has no taste or texture - just an ineffable, heady aroma that makes her feel extremely uneasy. As she's come to know him better, her ability to detect his fear has increased, and though it's uncomfortable, it also arouses within her an unimpeachable necessity to fiercely protect him at all costs. It hasn't escaped her that when she does anything to protect him, his fear skyrockets. She can smell it in his voice.

Elizabeth Keen does not love Raymond Reddington, but she wants him (badly), and she tells herself that it's because he's still an enigma - still an unsolved puzzle. As soon as she answers the biggest question of all - Who is he, really? - she's convinced that the coiled heat in her belly will finally cool, and that she'll be able to resume her life without his constant invasion on her consciousness. To that end, she spends most of her waking hours thoroughly enmeshed in the endeavor.

The answers hide in the scent of his fear. She's quite certain of that, but still of little else.

And so, every day, Liz fruitlessly hunts for the scent's unknown source, constantly lifting random items to her nose to take a whiff. With the passing of time, she's become increasingly convinced that the source of the scent is unique to a specific location from her childhood, and therefore can't be found in Washington, DC. When she returned home to Nebraska for Sam's funeral, however, she couldn't find it there, either.

If it came from an earlier time and place, before she was adopted, then she may very well be out of luck. With that avenue of discovery most likely closed, once again, all roads lead to Red. Liz's next tactic of choice wasn't exactly new, but it was certainly unkind.

She moved on to triggering his fear intentionally.

The most efficient way to do that is by asking questions that he's too afraid to answer. There, his promise to never lie can potentially work in her favor, but often doesn't. There's no fear to hear or smell when he recalcitrantly clams up and sends her away, but just before he does, he usually attempts to steer the conversation in a safer direction. In that moment, she can gague the extremity of his fear by the strength of the scent. Mindful of the subjective, unscientific nature of this approach, she rates his reaction to all inquiries between zero (no fear) and ten (practically jumping out of his skin). Later on, when she's alone again, she records her findings in a spiral notebook that never leaves her motel room.

A few short months ago, Liz made a huge leap of progress when she extracted him from The Factory. Red was terrified, but his need to keep her close superceded his usual response to fear. She used the leverage of her proximity and learned several things of which he was very much afraid. By the end of the ordeal, Liz had a new possible suspect for the source - The Fulcrum.

Unfortunately, that wasn't it, but after finding out that Red was there during the fire, she knew that she was getting closer.

Equally important however, was another observation that she made while at The Factory, and she berated herself for this because it wasn't anything she hadn't seen before. It just took her that long to pinpoint the significance. When Red neared the end of his story about the Mexican cave fish, the stench of fear in his voice momentarily dissipated. Liz herself is the light that he had referenced, and while she's somehow linked to most of the things that make him tremble in fear, she finally understood that she's also the balm that soothes him.

It was with that in mind that she revamped their little tango once again, but it hasn't been easy. In fact, it took several weeks for her to even work up the courage to give it a try. Rather than advancing upon him and then retreating in frustrated anger, she now pulls his trigger while throwing herself in front of the gun.

Burn, then soothe.

Burn, then soothe.

-...-...-...-...-

Chapter One

In the backseat of his car, while Dembe drove her home from the King's auction, she reached out to Red and took his hand in hers. By that time, most of his fear had already vanished, but he was very, very angry, and he recoiled from her hand as if she'd somehow burned him.

"Never do that again." The taste of burnt popcorn made her mouth dry.

Never do what? Touch him? She heaved a sigh and shook her head, incredulous. "You're welcome."

He lunged forward, closing the very small gap between them and firmly grabbed her wrist. "I'm serious. You can never, ever do that again. Promise me."

Her gaze hardened before she could rein it in. "No. We took down dozens of wanted criminals, recovered millions of dollars in stolen property, and saved innocent lives." In the darkness of the car, she could still make out the flare of his nostrils.

He tightened his grip on her wrist. "I'm not talking about that."

She looked away, uncertain of how to proceed. Would she make that promise? No. Hell no.

"You... You're talking about you. Wow... You are so damaged..." She twisted her arm, freeing her wrist from his grasp, awaiting a verbal response that never came.

Burn and soothe.

Burn and soothe.

She went on, "You can't accept help from anyone. Has anyone ever helped you? Is that why you are the way you are? Because you don't feel deserving of it?"

But nothing, still.

"Is that the reason you won't allow yourself to be vulnerable for even a second?" She turned back towards him and lifted her eyes to softly meet his, both begging and daring him to speak at once.

"Among others."

And ah, there it was. Fear. He doesn't like to be analyzed, but she already knew that, of course.

"You know, when someone does something nice, you're supposed to say, 'Thank you.' I did save your life, after all."

Red sighed, his eyes flitting back and forth between her face and the window behind her. She found it unsettling that he had to battle with himself about making such a simple concession. "Thank you."

Less burnt popcorn, but still with the wind-sucking stench of fear. She rapidly blinked, trying to dam the threatening deluge of tears. But why was she crying? The stench of his frightened voice alone was enough to make her eyes water, but it was much more than that. The gap between Red's problems and her own seemed to continuously draw nearer.

Boldly, she outstretched her hand, but then hesitated when he reflexively drew in a deep breath, bracing himself for contact. "You're welcome."

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, obviously trying to collect himself. When he lifted his eyes to meet her gaze, his were narrowed, and just as wet as hers. "But never again."

This time, no more popcorn. Only the ineffable combined with cigar smoke - sadness.

Now or never, Keen.

Do or die.

She grabbed his hand and laced their fingers so tightly that Red would've struggled if he really wanted to free himself - something that his sense of dignity would never allow. Instead, his hand went limp and pitifully died in her's.

"Red, I - I risked my life for you because I care about you."

His entire body made a sudden little movement for which Liz lacked an appropriate description. A shudder? A shiver? A rolling spasm? His breath hitched as he croaked out a reply. "I wish you wouldn't."

"And I wish I couldn't." She loosened her grip on his hand, hoping that he wouldn't pull away. A charged silence fell between them, but he seemed to be relaxing, if only a little.

After several minutes of quietly holding hands, Liz swooped in again. "May I ask you a question?"

His chin lifted to better facilitate a thick swallow. "You say that as if I have a choice."

Not quite strong enough for her to label it as 'fear', but something close. Trepidation, maybe. She'd give it a 'one' in her notebook.

"If the tables were turned, and I asked you to never risk your life for me, would you make that promise?"

Red silently worked his jaw in the way that always makes her wonder if he too is a synesthete. "No, I wouldn't." Still a 'one'.

"Then you understand why I can't make that promise to you." She gently squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him that she could handle his response.

"I do, yes. I do understand, but I'm afraid that you don't." True to his word alone, the scent wafted over, carried by the sound waves of his voice. A 'three'.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I need a little more than that. I won't make an empty promise. In fact, I can't."

"Lizzie, I -"

"No, it's okay. I'm sure the only reason that I don't understand is that you simply don't want me to. You're not ready yet, and that - that I understand very well."

"Lizzie, it's not that simple." Another 'three'.

"My point is that its not even a choice. If I agreed to never do that again, it would be a lie, because I care about you. I'm sorry. But you, Red, you do have a choice. You can either explain why your life isn't worth saving, or you can accept that whenever I deem it necessary, I'll keep on saving it."

"Please, Lizzie." At a 'four', she had to turn away to brush a tear from her eye, but Red saw it. He responded by pulling her hand into his lap so that he could continue holding onto it while lightly tracing her scar with the fingers of his other hand.

"After spending the last few years unwittingly making a fool of myself - making a fake life with a fake man, I couldn't even leave him to die. I didn't want to do it, but I couldn't help saving his life."

Red swallowed and slowly shook his head, no doubt tracing along the parallel that she'd drawn much further than she'd intended. Neither were anywhere near ready to go there. She didn't just throw herself in front of his gun.

Shit. Shit. Shit. She jumped it.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: First, I'm absolutely thrilled that this was so well-received, and I can't even begin to thank you guys enough for the support. *Hugs all*

Anon synesthete, I'm especially thankful to you. Part of me was fretting that someone would either tell me that I'd gotten it all wrong, or that I'd offended them somehow. I'm not a synesthete myself, so I'm quite relieved that it came across well. And you're absolutely right about Liz being less detached than she's allowing herself to admit. I'd say that goes for both the show and this fic, TBH. Fortunately, she'll come around more quickly here.

This chapter picks up at s02e19, with all of the little changes I see fit for this varied version of events.

-...-...-...-

The gurgling sound of Red choking and slowly drowning in his own blood tastes like acetone - nail polish remover - and has no scent of its own, but it stings. Liz used to bite her nails when she was a child. Nerves. She was always nervous, back then.

God, she's nothing short of terrified now. Torso twisted, reaching into the back seat to apply pressure to the wound, she begs him to stay still, but even with a gaping, gushing crater in his lung, Red's still a stubborn son of a bitch. Secretly, she takes a degree of solace in his will to fight, even if he's only fighting her.

Like he always does, it seems, but she lacks the mental clarity to acknowledge that she personally starts the vast majority of their fights.

"Reddington, stay still, damnit!"

He shook his head, his mouth opening and closing, voiceless and gurgling. "Red, please! You can tell me when we get there. Mr. Kaplan is assembling your mobile crash team. You have to calm down.

"You're losing too much blood. Soon, Red."

"Li-Lizzie, I.." he choked. Burnt popcorn and fear. A seven.

REALLY? He's angry NOW? Right, because she leaped out of her vehicle to help him - Ran right into the hail of bullets to shoot back. 'Well, when he recovers, he can go screw himself,' she thought, because she has no regrets, here. She'd do it again.

She turned around completely then, rising up on her haunches and using both hands to push him down again, flat on his back. The force she used was overkill, either because he lacked the strength to hold himself up, or he had finally surrendered to her will. He went limp and flopped down, under her hands.

Keeping pressure on the wound, she leaned in close, her face only inches from his. Feeling her breath on his skin, his eyes slipped shut. "Red, stay with me. Red! Red! I need you to open your eyes, please. Hold on, for me. We're almost there. Just... just hold on."

If asked, Liz couldn't have remembered what she said, or even how she felt while she said it, but she would never, ever in a million years forget the relief in his gaze when he finally opened his eyes and saw that she was still there.

-...-...-...-

With Red secured to a stretcher, she ran alongside him, holding his hand as a doctor rolled him towards the plastic-enclosed makeshift OR. "You can't go in there," he firmly told her.

"Like hell I can't."

Mr. Kaplan stepped in to intervene. "Agent Keen, that's a sterile area." And finally she understood, her need to be close superceded by her need to save his life.

Red weakly tried again to speak, to pull her closer, and she leaned in obliging without a second thought. "Leon-Leonard C-Caul. Find him, Li-Lizzie."

She nodded vigorously and pressed a fast, firm kiss to his temple. "You're going to be okay, Red!" She stepped back, clamping a hand over her burning lips, and closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the flurry of sounds and the scents and tastes that they triggered. In seconds, she was able to open them again, and watched through the clear plastic as two nurses began to cut off Red's four hundred dollar, blood-soaked dress shirt. She jumped at the sudden contact of strong fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"Agent Keen, I believe Raymond just told you what to do. He wouldn't have said it if it wasn't important." Mr. Kaplan was always the very picture stern confidence, and her voice never triggered a synesthetic response. Liz allowed herself to be turned away and lead towards a bathroom, wordless. Mr. Kaplan opened the door and gently pushed her through it. "You're covered in blood."

Liz choked on a sob and braced herself against the cold, porcelain sink. When she slowly lifted her head to look in the mirror, she shuddered at her own reflection. Her face, hair, neck, and blouse were all saturated with Red's blood.

"Take a minute to clean yourself up, and then give your team a call." She dropped a burner phone into Liz's coat pocket. "Do you need help, or can you do this?" Her tone had softened some, sympathetic and kind. Motherly, Liz imagined.

She nodded. "I can do this," and then offered a grateful smile to the older woman as she turned and closed the door behind herself.

Liz washed her hands and used a scratchy wet paper towel to wipe the already-drying blood from her face and neck. She'd just begun to attempt to tie her hair back when the unmistakable sound of gunshots echoed through the concrete hall. She reached into her coat to draw her sidearm and flick the safety, brazenly opening the door and peeking her head out into the sudden calm. "Red," she whispered, breaking into sprint.

Pulling back the plastic, she stepped into the makeshift OR and saw the surgeon, lifeless, on the floor.

"Agent Keen," Dembe spoke behind her. His voice always tasted like ginger ale, as if his sole purpose in her life was to ease her tumultuous insides. She would like it if he spoke more often, but his silence is careful and calculated, and she can appreciate that too. Red certainly seems to value it. He only speaks when he really has something to say.

"What the hell happened?"

"They've found us. We need to move NOW, and we need another surgeon."

"No, we can't move him. We've only cauterized the severed artery. He needs more blood," the nurse interjected.

"Do you want to die? At best, we have a few minutes before they send more men with guns. We ARE going. Give him a transfusion enroute. You do have more blood, don't you?" And Liz knows that the woman is frightened, but she doesn't give a damn. She'll say and do worse without a second thought if necessary, and besides, she's only telling her the truth. There's no sugarcoating a situation like this.

The woman took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

Liz found Mr. Kaplan furiously punching a text message into a phone belonging to one of the dead men. "This should buy us enough time to get out. I've already paged our backup surgeon, but he hasn't phoned back. He may be in surgery now. If you know anyone that can help, now's the time to call them."

Liz momentarily closed her eyes, mentally conjuring a phone number that she hasn't dialed in years. "I don't know if he'll do it or not, but I'll try. Where are you taking him?"

"I'm still working on that."

"Go to 1896 La Vista Street. It's safe. I'll meet you there." The address of Tom's old hideout rolled off her tongue as if she'd just discovered it yesterday. She turned and ran back to Dembe without even waiting for a reply.

She found him helping the nurses pack up the supplies. "You're riding in the ambulance right?"

He nodded.

"I need Red's car. Mr. Kaplan has an address. I'm going to pick up another surgeon, and I'll meet you guys there."

Her eyes drifted to Red's bare chest, but she tore them away just in time to catch the keys that Dembe had tossed without missing a beat. He wished that Red could see his Lizzie, now. He'd be so proud. Pissed off, probably, but proud nonetheless.

She brushed her palm over Red's scalp, too panicked to properly appreciate the soft texture of his hair, though she'd imagined it many times before. "Stay with us, Red." Her eyes briefly met Dembe's in a silent conveyance of solidarity, and she turned on her heel to run to the car.

-...-...-...-...-...-

Liz repressed the urge to sob with relief when her jilted old flame mercifully answered the phone. "Hey Nick. It's Liz."

"Liz... Lizzie? God, it's been forever." His surprise quickly gave way to trepidation and annoyance when he realized that she must want something.

"Are you still at Howard University Hospital? I need your help." She pulled out into the street, heading in that direction, banking on a yes.

"If this is going where I think it's going, then absolutely not."

"Nick, please." Her voice shrill and cracked, she wasn't above begging.

"I haven't heard from you in three years."

"I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice. I need a surgeon."

"No. It's a big city. Find another one."

"I had one."

"Great! Use him."

"I can't..." She also couldn't tell him what had happened to the other surgeon. She couldn't tell him that she was asking him to risk his life, and she absolutely couldn't concern herself with the fucked up breach of ethics involved in her request.

"Why? Did you turn down his marriage proposal, too? I'm not going to risk losing my license to perform some back alley surgery on god knows who."

"Listen to me! A man is going to die if you don't help us. Please, I'm begging you. No one is going to find out about this, and if you want money, I can arrange that. Are you at Howard or not?"

"It'll be faster if I meet you there. Just give me the address. I'm leaving now."

Money talks. Even if that was his only reason for agreeing, she didn't give a damn. Lord knows Reddington has more than enough of it.

"1896 La Vista Street. Thank you, Nick."

"I'll be there in ten."

-...-...-...-...-...-

Liz arrived first and picked the lock just as easily as she had last year, when she was looking for Jolene Parker. Out of habit, she drew her gun and flicked the safety as she pushed the door open, only to come face-to-face with the man she had married and recently divorced. "What are you doing here? I thought you left."

"I live here." His voice, the one that always tasted like warm caramel, no matter what he said or how he said it, still did. Nobody's taste or scent changes, but while Tom's once brought her comfort, the cloying sweetness now makes her queasy.

Before she could even formulate a proper reply, the team rushed in, with Red still anesthetized in the stretcher. She looked up at Tom with pleading eyes.

He nodded, but he looked unhappy about it - justifiably so. "This is for you. Not him."

"Thank you."

She stepped outside to wait for Nick, and found him already walking towards the door, prompt as ever. She'd loved that about him, once. For a split second, she loved it again. "Thank you for coming." She strategically positioned herself between him and Tom as she lead him to Red. "There's a bullet in his right lung. They'll catch you up to speed on the details, and you can scrub in over there."

With things finally squared away with Red's care, Liz called Cooper. "Sir, it's Keen."

"Agent Keen, where are you?" His voice smelled like lavender, except when he said any variation of her name. That was roses. All of it lovely, always, and the contrast between scent and sound is nearly comical when he's angry.

"A safe house."

"Give me an address. We'll send our own men now."

"That won't be necessary. Reddington's team is here. We're secure."

"How is he?"

Liz bit her lip and drew in a slow breath, careful to keep her voice even. "He's... I don't know for sure yet, but it's bad."

"What do you need? Tell us, and we'll do it."

"I need you to find Leonard Caul."

"Okay, we're on it."

She pocketed the phone and crossed her arms over her chest, anxiously watching while Nick assessed the damage.

Tom approached and stood between her and the rapidly-erected plastic tent, a shameless demand for her attention. Liz stepped aside with a huff, looking past him. "Sorry, I thought you'd be gone."

"Yeah well, I thought maybe if I stayed, I'd have a shot at a normal life. Does Nick have any idea what you've gotten him into?"

She sidestepped again, trying to check her anger. Of course he wouldn't just let her be. "Well, it's a good thing I went to the trouble of stealing from evidence for you. And he's not a part of this. He's just the surgeon."

"Yes, you do know a surgeon, don't you? You didn't call him when I was mortally wounded. You brought in Ellie, a nurse that dabbles in real estate."

She had no interest in going there. "You don't know who I called. You know who came, and you're lucky that she did." She would have called Nick for the old Tom, the Tom that wasn't real, but that Tom could be treated in a real hospital. Whether or not Nick would have agreed to help either version is moot.

"Reddington's a bad man, Liz, and I don't understand why you're so attached to him. He's bad for anyone who comes in contact with him, and he's bad for you. His world will devour you."

Liz kept her eyes on Nick and Red, her patience running thin. "It doesn't matter if he's bad or not. What matters is that he has answers, and I'm staying until I get them." Funny, she'd once said something similar to Red about Tom. Both were partial lies, and she was unwilling to acknowledge either.

"Well, maybe I could help you get those answers."

"I doubt that."

"I know a lot more about Reddington than y- "

Nick finally stepped out, pulling off his mask, and Liz pushed her way past Tom, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"How is he?"

"The bullet nicked his right lung, but I was able to reinflate it. We'll start him on a prophylactic antibiotic. The problem is the bullet."

She grabbed his elbow and steered him away from Tom and towards Mr. Kaplan, who no doubt was equally interested in hearing the update. "Why is it a problem?"

"It has a percussion cap, which causes it to essentially explode on target. By some miracle, it didn't. If I try to remove it, if I touch it the wrong way... Liz, it's like there's a land mine inside him, and you're asking me to dig it up."

"So can you do it or not?"

Hmm... Such extensive knowledge. She herself wouldn't have known that on sight. Is this something they teach in med school, or during residency? Maybe. It's obviously useful. She'd have to ponder that later.

"I know who he is."

Oh, for fucksake, did Red hire him too, trying to get her away from Tom? She almost missed having an element of surprise in her life. It seems like nothing really surprises her anymore. But Nick may have recognized him from the FBI's Most Wanted list... maybe.

Through gritted teeth, Liz asked more firmly, "Can you do it or not?"

"I don't know why he's here or what you have to do with him, but I know."

Mr. Kaplan snapped open a titanium briefcase and looked at him pointedly. "$500,000- unmarked, untraceable. Mr. Reddington insists on being prepared for all contingencies. Shall we continue?"

He smiled. "You bet."

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

Liz, Mr. Kaplan, and Dembe stood shoulder-to-shoulder, watching closely through the plastic while Nick made the first incision. Tom stayed back, smart enough not to intrude while Liz was flanked by Red's most loyal associates.

For the first time, her mind drifted back to the moment when Red was shot, and to what Tom had just told her - what Reddington had confirmed. His fear was a 'seven' when he admitted the truth, and a 'nine' when he called her name in vain as she retreated. For the first time, the scent that often pulled her into danger was no match for her rage.

Perhaps that was worth noting.

Now, her brow furrowed as she battled an amalgamation of remorse, anger, and worry. It certainly hadn't occured to her that she may never have another chance to hear him out - to hear not only the things he could have told her, but also any number of things that she could have secretly inferred.

She made a very distinct effort not to ponder the other reasons that she cared about his life, knowing that it couldn't serve either of them well in the moment.

The trio sighed in unison when the bullet was effectively plucked from Red's chest. After many long minutes of silence, Dembe was the first to speak. "Elizabeth?" He gently took her elbow and lead her out of Mr. Kaplan's earshot. She couldn't recall another time in which he'd called her anything besides 'Agent Keen'. It sounded nice, and the taste of his voice was just was she needed - soothing. Perhaps this whole ordeal had pulled them into a closer, more comfortable familiarity. She certainly hoped so.

"In Bethesda, there's a small second-story flat. In the flat, you will find a desk. The middle drawer has a false front. Remove it, and you will find a silver case along with a key." The words tumbled out so quickly that she was tempted to ask him to repeat himself. Closer thought revealed that it wasn't that at all - just faster, more than she would have expected. He was a little nervous about telling her this.

"This is about the Fulcrum?"

"Yes. You still have it, right?"

"I do."

"This case, the key... I need you to bring them here to Raymond, to Leonard Caul."

"That's why Reddington wanted us to find Caul. He can decipher the Fulcrum?" Liz's gaze drifted back to Red, her reluctance to leave made evident.

"He's gonna be okay, Elizabeth."

"I don't know..."

"This flat... Raymond can never know you were there. Do you understand? I would go if I could. That's what he expects, but I can't. I can't leave him alone. He'll survive this bullet, but another? So I'll say it again: I can't leave him, but you can, and he must never know you were there, Elizabeth. Never."

Red has a secret flat? She immediately saw the gift for what it was. Dembe had given her an opportunity - one that Red wouldn't want her to have. He could have sent someone else, like Mr. Kaplan, but he intentionally chose her. She listened carefully to the address and quickly slipped the key onto the ring for Red's car keys, since she'd have to use it again to get to Bethesda.

"I understand. Thank you." She quickly glanced at Red, currently getting sutured up, and then at Mr. Kaplan, who briefly met her gaze. Determined and ready, Liz quickly made her way to the door, feeling Tom's eyes, heavy with question, on her backside.

Maybe the source of the scent was local, after all. Maybe it was something that Red had, something she had come into contact with, if only once, when she was little. She couldn't wait to get there, to pick up and smell every last piece of the place. Even if the source wasn't there, something was.

And she would find it.

The forty-minute drive to Bethesda took her just under thirty.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks for hanging in, guys! In this chapter, Liz investigates the flat, comes up with a few theories, and then has an enlightening conversation with Red. This strays quite a bit further from the events that took place in the show. I hope you guys like it. Reviews are always appreciated!

-...-...-...-...-...-

Liz imagined that Red's apartment would mirror his chosen local safehouses, at least to some degree. She expected vaulted ceilings, Persian rugs, antique furniture, and impressive works of art. What she found instead was more like a portal into middle class America in the 1980s. Though unexpected, it didn't quite register as a surprise.

Her first order of business was to follow Dembe's instructions. With the requested items in her possession, she'd be able to leave in a split second, if necessary. In the small space, she located them easily and left them on the desktop, freeing her hands so that she could get to work on her own personal project.

She had just stepped in front of the bookshelf when a soft, rustling sound broke through the thick, almost-eerie silence. Liz turned to see that she wasn't alone, and was in fact being watched by a resident of the flat, a cat. "Aw, hey sweetheart," she softly crooned and stepped forward, offering her hand for the kitty to smell, her palm facing up, non-threatening. He bumped her hand with his nose, curious and friendly. "What's your name, little guy?"

Liz chuckled, noting that he had a red collar. She felt her way around it, to the little tag hanging from the bottom, and read it aloud. "Stuart? Huh..." The little guy kept a watchful eye on her as she resumed her work at the bookshelf. She recognized some of the book titles, but nothing really stood out, so she moved on to the photos.

The first to catch her eye was one of her with Sam. Most of the others were pretty old, in black and white, and not of anyone that she recognized... until she found another with herself as a little girl, sitting on a woman's lap, on a swing. The image quality was poor, the woman's face almost entirely blown out, like the photographer had forgotten to turn off the flash while outside in the sun. She picked it up and snapped a picture of it with the phone that Mr. Kaplan had given her, and then flipped it over to take it out of the frame, just in case something had been written on the back.

"K&amp;M 1986."

Could it be her mother? A litany of names that began with the letter 'K' raced through her mind, and she said them all aloud, hoping that one would provoke a taste or scent. "Kaitlyn, Kate, Katie, Kelly, Katia, Katrina, Karen, Kathy, Katherine, Kathleen..."

Nothing. Damn.

She put the picture back and examined the others a little more closely, snapping photos of them all. Surely at least one would turn up in the NGI database. Of course, a hit wouldn't necessarily have any link to herself, but Liz was interested in anything that might tell her something about Red. The sheer volume of framed photographs gave her the distinct impression that he's more sentimental than he lets on.

Upon closer inspection, the face in one of the older, black and white photographs looked vaguely familiar. The man wore some sort of military uniform and gazed sternly into the camera lens. Liz racked her brain. When it finally came to her, the answer certainly inspired intrigue, but zero understanding.

His name was Georgy Zhukov, a Soviet World War II general. Was he somehow related to Red? She could think of no better explanation.

She began to sniff out the items in the living room, starting with the upholstery, and then the tacky pillow that made her laugh. "If you don't have anything nice to say, sit next to me." While it fit well enough with the rest of the decor, and despite the fact that the words might appeal to Red, it was far too kitschy for him - suspiciously so. If he ever knowingly allows her to visit this forbidden haven, she'll definitely have to ask for the story behind it. With Red, everything has a story. She then moved on to the wooden figures on the wall, and even the little knick knacks on the shelves, like the Russian nesting dolls. Nothing, still. In fact, none of the individual items had a scent that was discernable from that of the apartment as a whole.

The shelf of records held some interest. She could easily imagine Red hiding all kinds of things inside a record sleeve, but he must have had at least two hundred. She picked up a few and flipped through them, careful not to screw up their order, though they didn't appear to be intentionally organized. Django Reinhardt, Shostakovich, Ella Fitzgerald, Niccolo Paganini, Abramsky, Coltrane, Stravinsky, Dizzy Gillespie, and The Beatles. Varied but classic. More 'Red' than anything else, so far.

She saved the best for last.

The bedroom decor meshed well with the rest of the apartment, except with matching furniture that was obviously purchased as a set. A queen-sized bed with a featureless oak headboard sat in the center of the room. More framed photographs were scattered atop a long dresser, an armoir, and even the nightstands that flanked the bed.

With low expectations, Liz leaned in to sniff the neatly-made bed. Next, she opened the closet and found both men and women's clothing hanging from plain wire hangers. Hm.

Did Red have a girlfriend, or perhaps a fondness for wearing women's clothing in his spare time? When she found herself hoping for the latter, she immediately tried to justify it in a way that wouldn't point to jealousy. An appreciation for cross dressing is an eccentricity, right? It's the less obvious explanation. It's more interesting. It's more FUN.

Looking up, she saw a cardboard box sitting on a shelf above the rack of clothes. Her fingers practically tingled with excitement at the prospect of what it may hold. On tiptoes, arms outstretched, she was just barely able to reach it, but lost her grip as it slipped over the edge. Though she managed to catch it in midair, the box wasn't closed, and much of its contents spilled onto the floor. Just clothes.

Little girl's clothes.

Could these have belonged to Red's daughter? They must.

A tsunami of guilt knocked Liz to her knees, and she did her very best to neatly fold the pieces that had fallen out. Her hands trembled as she hastily returned the box to its proper location, but then it hit her - Maybe this explains why walking into the apartment had felt like crossing a portal into the '80s. Maybe Red had lived here with his family.

And now it's a shrine. A space dedicated to memories. That would explain the picture of her with Sam, and the one of her with her mother. And the weird, cheap little yard sale tchotchkes probably weren't worth anything to him individually, but collectively they might matter, just because they were here before, when his wife and daughter were here too.

She should have called off her search there. She should have grabbed the metal case and the key from the desk, and she should have given Stuart another scratch behind his ears, and left. Locked the door behind her. Never looked back.

Because this was WRONG.

Too bad Agent Keen is still too self-serving for that.

Her next stop was the night stands. Each had a single, very small drawer. The one nearest the closet contained a flashlight, a book of crossword puzzles, and a few pens and pencils. In the other, an open and half-empty box of XL-sized condoms.

Oh look, confirmation of something she had long expected. Long and... thick.

Crap.

She really, really should have left, but maybe this - maybe THIS is what Dembe had wanted her to find. Maybe he had managed to discern what's really happening to her (to her heart only, and apparently not to Red's). Maybe he wanted her to know that she should refocus her efforts on their work, and away from whatever future she was trying to deny that she wanted.

Desperately, secretly wanted.

-...-...-...-

Between Caul's abrupt arrival and her mad dash to the director, Liz didn't get a chance to ponder the things she'd found in Red's apartment. Making her way back to his makeshift hospital, it felt like she was going in cold. All she really wanted to do was set eyes on him quickly, just to make sure he was okay. She still needed to know why he'd hired Tom, but she wasn't ready to hear it - not just yet. They could talk later.

He should rest now, anyway.

After she pulled up, Dembe stopped her at the door, his expression stern. "Elizabeth."

Uh oh. "What is it? Is he okay?"

"Yes, but he knows."

"He... he knows? That I was in the apartment?"

"I thought I should warn you. Caul phoned him after he found you, and told him where. It isn't your fault."

"Is he mad?"

He nodded. "But I think he's mostly afraid. Worried about what happened earlier, what Tom told you. I don't think he should be having any long conversations just yet, but if he tries, Elizabeth, you should hear him out. He never means you harm. Not ever."

"Yeah, well, I guess we'll see. Thank you, for everything." She held out the keys for him to take, and then slowly made her way to Red's bedside, noting all of the carnage that she passed along the way.

Red swallowed thickly as she cane into view. "Lizzie..." The scent of his fear was already a 'six', and she hadn't even spoken yet.

"We've cleared a wing at Sibley Memorial for you and your medical team. Cooper will oversee your security personally." It almost hurts her, being this cold, but she's still relieved to see that he's okay.

"Lizzie, when I hired Tom Keen -"

"Don't, please. We don't have to do this right now." She turned and started to walk away, but Red kept going. He spoke into her back, banking on the hope that she might turn around.

He was right.

"When I hired Tom Keen, it was at a time of profound transition in your life. You'd already left behind the relative safety and innocence of youth. Sam's care as a father had served you well, but you'd outgrown him. You moved away, went to college, and for the first time, you were alone... and I knew that eventually, my life would jeopardize yours."

Liz closed her eyes, sighing. "Red..."

"In an admittedly presumptuous and ultimately futile effort to keep you safe, I hired Tom simply to be there as a friend of a friend, to look after you from an arm's length. When I learned that he had gotten closer, I fired him. I wish, I... I should have done more... Then Tom shifted his allegiance to Berlin, in part to protect himself from me, but also because it allowed for an inextricable intimacy and commitment to you. And so, you were married, and I couldn't stay away any longer. A confluence of peril had entered your life, and I wanted to be within reach, to have influence."

"That's why you showed up."

"I turned myself in to the FBI to point you toward a truth that you would have to discover for yourself, and with a bit of prodding, you did."

"Is that all of it?"

"Some of it."

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to lie just once, just to make someone feel good."

She's tired. She's too fucking tired for this. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually. It's too much. All of it.

"Lying wouldn't serve you any favors, but I don't understand... How is the truth worse than whatever you were already thinking?"

"Why? Because NOW, I have to contend with the knowledge that he wanted me enough to risk his job and his life to be with me. It's harder to hate him, but it's more than that... I also broke up with Nick, for Tom. I have to wonder what could have been, if I'd have stayed with him... and it's just another failure, another trophy on my shelf of fuck ups."

"No, it isn't." His fear had jumped to a 'seven'. Not good.

"How do you figure?"

"Well I... you understand that I couldn't trust Tom, right? All I really knew about his new employer was that he's dangerous, and that he wanted something from me... He was out to harm anyone and anything that I hold dear. Lizzie, that's a very short list. I had every reason to believe that you had another bullseye on your back, and you did. No doubt you recall your husband holding a gun to your head."

"Yes, vividly. So?"

"So, Nick... He's my pilot's son. I hired him too, to head Tom off before he got even closer, to remove you from the danger of being his target. Nick had never been trained as a spy, or used an alias. All he ever wanted was to be a surgeon, and I knew that I could trust him. If he succeeded, I would cover all of his education expenses. He didn't have to stay with you, just - just be there until Tom was gone... But Tom stepped up his game. He worked harder to be kind, to be thoughtful, to make you laugh... And poor Nick, he really did fall in love with you, but you fell in love with Tom."

Her eyes filled up with tears, and the room began to sway. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

Red's heart seized, guilt-stricken and aching to hold her. "I don't know, but I can't lie to you. I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"Why? You've no reason to be."

Liz closed the space between them and plopped down beside him on the tiny bed. "No, I'm just... I'm just so tired of fighting all the time. I'm mad at you, and you just had a bullet scooped out of your chest, and it makes everything else look comparatively petty, but it's NOT. You keep hiring all these attractive men to follow me around, and it makes me feel so... so stupid. What about Ezra? Was he supposed to try to make a move on me if I got lonely? You know that I've never been alone before, thanks to you, until now... so?"

"No. Ezra was only a well-armed set of eyes to watch you while Berlin was in the wind. And Lizzie, you're not alone now. You still have me."

She snorted and shook her head. "Hardly. I have you at work. At work, we're partners, but you still have your own work, your own personal life. Your thing with me, with the FBI, we're extracurricular. I'm going back to my motel, and you'll probably be halfway to Havana by sundown. I have no way of knowing how far your reach extends. I have no way of knowing who's really here to suckle from your Swiss bank accounts. And even my job - even the taskforce is here thanks to you."

"Lizzie, you're not an extracurricular activity. My involvement with the FBI might be, in a way, I suppose, but not you. Never you. I've told you before that no matter where you are, if you're in need, I'll be there - in whatever capacity you need me to be."

"No, Red. Red! I can't go there right now. I didn't want to have this conversation. Nevermind. I'll see you later." Liz stood up and faced away from him while the weak dam of her eyelids finally failed, and she brushed off several stray tears with her sleeve.

But Red didn't understand. He didn't know what she had meant or what she was really feeling. He could only see her anger and his guilt.

"Lizzie, wait!" And his voice, his voice was so small and weak that she could smell it more than she could hear it, and she took pity on him again, in spite of herself, and she's angry. With everyone. With everything. With him, of course, but mostly with herself.

She turns back to him again and hates herself even more.

"Lizzie, you're in danger. You're in more danger now than you were before. By going to the director, you've revealed yourself to be a threat, and now he's figuring out a way to eradicate the threat. I don't need to explain that any further, do I?"

"Is this your way of telling me that you've hired another attractive man with a gun to follow me around?"

He shook his head. Winded. Weary. Apprehensive. "I want you to stay with us at the apartment in Bethesda. Let Dembe be your attractive man with a gun. Just for a little while, until we can dispose of the director." A 'seven', and he's practically whispering, maybe to force her to come closer, in order to hear, as he sometimes does. Or maybe because he's so weak from the wound, or hazy from the anesthesia and pain meds.

She shook her own head twice as hard. "No! Absolutely not. Are you insane? That weird little apartment isn't big enough for all of us."

"The living room couch pulls out into a bed. Dembe and I will sleep on that, and you can take the bedroom."

"Red you're -" She pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting for a way to say something to the point without dragging up the things she still wants to suppress, but there's just so many of them, and she's even more possessive of him now than she was before he was shot. She wants to be close to him, but he's asking too much, and it's too muddled. Unless she can summon the strength to walk away for real, it's coming out - this terrible truth that she doesn't understand.

"What is it, sweetheart? Talk to me."

Oh no. No. No. No. He didn't just call her that. Not now. She tried to ignore him. Stared at her feet. Couldn't speak.

"Lizzie?"

"There is someone else."

"No, I already told you that I haven't hired anyone else."

"Tell me about the woman."

"What woman? Oh, the photograph..."

"Well, yes I saw that too, but I -"

He cut her off. "That's your mother."

"My mother..."

"Please, stay with us, Lizzie. It won't be for very long. I know that I can't force you, but -"

"I wasn't talking about the photograph."

"I'm afraid you've lost me."

"The other woman. Your girlfriend, I'm assuming."

"What makes you think I have time for a girlfriend?"

Evasive, or genuinely perplexed? She had said nothing about 'time'. Ordinarily, he would have caught on by now.

"The contents of your closet and nightstand."

And Red's sudden grin. God, she wanted to slap it off of his face. "What?" She asked, impatient and unwilling to be mocked.

"That isn't my flat, Lizzie."

"Yes, it is. Those pictures. The records. The cat. They're yours."

"If you'll accept it, it all yours, except for Stuart. He belongs to Dembe." The fear is entirely gone, now. Relief and genuine amusement are all that she can see, hear, smell, and taste. It's her turn to be confused now, and she is. What the hell kind of game is this, anyway?

"What makes you think I'd want this any more than the last one you bought? And if it doesn't belong to you, then you can hardly give it to me. If you want me to stay there with you, much less claim ownership of the place, you'll have to give me another puzzle piece."

"Because that 'weird little apartment' belonged to your mother."

"My mother..."

Well, shit. She definitely didn't see that one coming.

"I left it exactly as she had it, for you. You're right that some of the items there are mine, but most of it belonged to her. I never threw anything away."

"Are those your daughter's clothes, in the box in the closet?"

"They're yours. You really dug around in there, didn't you?"

"Guilty as charged." But Liz doesn't feel guilty at all anymore, just overwhelmingly curious. And she's still mad, somewhere, in the back of her mind, about Tom, Nick, and Ezra - about everything really, still.

But Red is safe and he doesn't have a girlfriend and he kept her mother's things for her and that - THAT is what Dembe had wanted her to find. One day, she'll get better at this. She'll get better at understanding Red.

"We don't have to stay there if you don't want to. We can go to a safehouse instead, but I imagine you'll see the things there with a different set of eyes, knowing it belonged to her."

"Why was it such a big secret? Aren't you mad that I was there?"

"I didn't want you to know about it yet because you'll have even more questions now, questions with answers that I either don't know or can't tell... but you've already been there, and I can't erase that. I had planned on giving it to you eventually, anyway. I kept it for you."

"You're right. I do have questions."

"Understand that if you ask them, you'll be disappointed." He's afraid, again - a 'three', and Liz wants to reassure him, but neither could win this battle.

So, she tries. She both digs and climbs in search of a middle ground - a compromise that couldn't possibly satisfy, but would hopefully sustain.

"How about just one, for now? If you'll tell me this, then I'll stay with you until we've dealt with the director... Well, unless it takes too long."

"How long is 'too long'?"

"However long it takes you to drive me crazy."

Red began to chuckle, but it caused a lightning bolt of pain that gave him immediate pause. His face pinched as he reflexively sucked in a deep breath that only made it worse. "I may lose you in a day."

"You might."

"Then don't keep me in suspense. Ask away."

"What was my mother's name?"

"I only knew one, and it may have been an alias. She had several."

"The one you knew, then."

"Katarina Rostova. Kat for short."

Peaches and cream. Her mother's name tastes like peaches and cream.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: This chapter is shorter than the others. Liz agrees to stay with Red and Dembe, but their hunt for the director is superceded by Karakurt. She finally finds the scent! I had planned on coming up with a situation for her to stumble upon it, but the last episode presented a canon opportunity, so I decided to take it. Thanks to all for reading! Reviews are always, always appreciated. I hope you guys like it.

See chapter one for the disclaimer.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

Naturally, Red refused the secured hospital wing that AD Cooper had offered.

Back at her new/old (and still weird) apartment, Liz tried to become better acquainted with Stuart. A pushy little thing, he seemed to have a particular fondness for the record player. She put on a Miles Davis album, Kind of Blue, but after setting the needle down, she neglected to close the lid. Stuart playfully slapped at both the spinning record and the needle. After she closed it, he redirected his attention to Dembe and his jigsaw puzzle, intent on not allowing him to finish. He batted a dozen loose pieces to the floor before deciding that he'd rather just lay down in the center of the ones that were assembled. If Red were a cat, Liz decided, he would be exactly like this one.

Introducing Stuart and Hudson turned out to be a disappointment. She'd hoped that the furry little pair might bond, but neither made any attempt to befriend the other. They were either tolerant or indifferent... for now, at least.

That may have only been because Hudson was so focused on Red. It wasn't their first time meeting, but they'd never spent more than a minute or two at a time together. Now, Hudson wouldn't leave his side. He took on the role of a cuddly four-legged bodyguard, clearly aware of Red's injury.

It was adorable.

Red was smart enough to stay out of her personal space, quietly reading a book called 'Imperial Hubris'. After briefly complaining that his shirt chafed his bandage, he'd decided to dress down, way, way down, wearing only his slacks with a fully-unbuttoned dress shirt. If this was his idea of not driving her crazy, then he still had a lot to learn. Liz kept her eyes diverted as much as she could, but also worried that doing so made her discomfort too obvious. And then Hudson, her sweet, sweet dog, apparently decided to put an end to that.

Well, that's how it felt to her, anyway.

"Help!" Red shrieked when the over-solicitous pup wouldn't stop licking his chest, just above the bandage. Laughing and simultaneously cringing in pain, he tried to push him away, to little effect.

Liz immediately jumped to his aid and picked up the dog as he wiggled in protest, displeased. She couldn't help laughing too. "Are you ticklish, Red?" And as she met his gaze, she saw a hint of something both dark and mischievous in his eyes. Her breath hitched as she looked away, and he saw it.

She knew that he did.

He too faltered in that moment, yawning and drawing his words both low and slow, "I'm exhausted. Lizzie, would you mind if we turned in now?" The taste of clover honey and the scent of apple cider knocked her back, just a little.

She closed her eyes as she nodded. It's too bad she can't close her ears as well. She's powerless under that tone in his voice.

"I think you guys should take the bed. That couch can't be good for you to sleep on, not after having surgery."

"I can't protect you both from the bedroom. I have to sleep near the door," Dembe replied, and she expected that, but she had to say it before jumping to her next suggestion.

"Okay then, Dembe, I'll just sleep out here with y-"

Red interjected, "Absolutely not."

And whoa.

Whoa. Gone was the seductive tone. His fear was a 'four', and Dembe looked almost as nervous as he had when Anslo Garrick had kidnapped them from the Post Office. She let it go, then, and quietly made her way to the bedroom.

Secretly, more than just a little bit pleased.

-...-...-...-...-

In her dreams, Liz's synesthesia is limitless, crossing all senses. Red's voice is navy blue, and his lips taste heather grey. She's an artist, and she paints him as she would like him to be - as permanent as a promise, or a secret faithfully kept. When he touches her, it tastes like a very fine, expensive cabernet. His lips taste like the hollow throb of an upright bass.

But she always wakes up alone, an FBI agent again. He, still an over-priviledged adjunct informant.

This time, the other side of the bed is still cold, but she isn't so alone. The FBI has rules against this kind of thing, and they've broken rules before, but this is different. It's heavier. While technically it's her apartment, it's also foreign. Quietly padding down the hallway to the bathroom feels like a walk of shame.

Except.

Liz isn't ashamed at all.

-...-...-...-...-

Red broke his own rule about only staying in one place for two days, but only because he was closely-guarded and recovering from his wound. Much to her chagrin, he insisted on both dropping Liz off and picking her up from the Post Office each day, so she would never be alone. Red and Dembe worked harder than either would have liked, and certainly more than the former should have, seeking out leads on Karakurt, which they then fed to the taskforce to follow.

And it pissed her off, this whole Karakurt thing, because they hadn't even gotten a chance to begin their hunt for the director yet. They couldn't, not with the immediate threat of a terrorist attack and the start of another cold war.

In bits and pieces, Liz tried to draw information from Red about her mother, but he was predictably recalcitrant about it all. Low expectations spared her any great disappointment, but he did tell her a precious few things. She was born in Moscow, and her mother was a KGB agent. Both jived with the bits and pieces of things that she recalled during Braxton's imposed memory recovery.

And oh, about her erased memories? With the heavy scent of fear in his voice, Red admitted to being responsible for that, but of course he wouldn't tell her why. Bastard. Again, it was his fear that kept her from pressing too hard - that made her protective of him even while he was already protecting himself.

On the forth day, with the clock ticking more loudly than ever, they relocated to an enormous old house on the Potomac. There, Red brought in Brimley, his curiously-diminutive and emphasemic advanced interrogator. Brimley's techniques make waterboarding look like a child's game. In his exhaustion, Red napped over the screams of Brimley's unfortunate subjects.

-...-...-...-...-...-

One of Red's leads brought Liz and Agent Ressler to the Office of Russian and European Analysis, and it couldn't possibly be a coincidence, could it? So, she did what she always does - took the presented opportunity to dig in and learn the things that Red is too afraid to tell her. After a tense briefing, the only welcoming face in the bunch, Agent Marshall, escorted them out. Liz hung back and let Ressler get ahead a bit.

"Hey, can you help me with something? Katarina Rostova... Have you heard of her?" She showed him the grainy photograph.

He looked at it closely, but shook his head. "I don't know who that is, but I doubt very seriously that that is Katarina Rostova. I don't think there are any photographs of Katarina Rostova."

"Why do you say that?"

"She's a myth. Tall tales late at night over vodka shots. Probably an amalgamation of a half-dozen unknown female Soviet operatives, the Pinko Mata Hari."

Again, she should have been surprised, but nothing that she's learned about herself has been anything less than legendary. Her mother might as well be of mythic proportions, as well.

"You said your CI works with the Old Guard, right? Could you ask him about her for me?"

"If anybody knows anything about Katarina Rostova, he will. Send me a copy of your photo. I'll see what I can do."

She nodded and shook his hand before shuffling to catch up with her partner. "Thank you."

As she reached his side, his phone began to ring, and he hastily answered, "Ressler."

She stood by and impatiently strained her ears to hear the conversation, but to little effect. Ressler clued her in as it progressed.

"Reddington just called. Karakurt is in possession of an ANFO IED."

Seriously? Reddington called them, and NOT HER? Jealous and irritated, she walked off in a huff before he'd have a chance to comment on her pinched expression.

Seconds later, he shouted, "LIZ! Liz, look out! The truck!"

His words had barely left his mouth when a white moving truck exploded. Its force literally lifted her from the ground, and she flew at least twenty feet backwards before landing on the hot asphalt. Her elbows, both scraped and badly bruised, mercifully splayed out and protected her head from the impact.

For long seconds, she lay on the ground, propped up on her elbows, still yet to register the searing pain that they later would. Ressler rushed to her side to help her stand, and she stared in shock, panting. As she slowly came to her senses, she began to walk forward, immediately concerned about the OREA agents that were no doubt Karakurt's targets.

Suddenly, RED.

He's here, and he's afraid, and oh god, SHE HAS TO FIND HIM, NOW. "REDDINGTON!" She screamed, but she could only hear the words inside of her head.

Liz couldn't hear anything.

Nothing but ringing in her ears, but god, she SMELLED him, smelled his fear at a 'ten', and she instantly knew what it meant.

Her partner tugged on her arm, trying to pull her away, but she ignored him. Ignored his moving lips. Didn't even try to explain her determination to keep moving forward, seeking out the source that had eluded her for so long.

As she stumbled through the rubble, she began to suspect that she had in fact hit her head after all.

Until.

She found a man in the wreckage, writhing in agony, his clothes ablaze. She tugged off her blazer and dropped to her knees beside him, using it to successfully extinguish the flames.

Too late. He died right in front of her, and the scent of Red's fear hung heavy in the air, blocking out everything else, including the shock of the carnage laid out before her.

Burned human flesh.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Buckle up. This one is long and super-heavy on the feels, especially at the end. I appreciate all of you for taking the time to read it, so thank you for that. Let me know what you think about this one.

Oh, and also, the next chapter might be smutty. Should I go there? I can't decide.

-...-...-...-...-

At her insistence, apparently unaware of her inability to hear him very well, Ressler drove Liz back to the Post Office. On the way, the ringing in her ears persisted, but her hearing came back, little by little, and was almost fully restored by the time they arrived.

Dealing with Karakurt was important. Preventing another cold war was important. She understood that on a fundamental level, but her head wasn't there. It was on Red, and the scent, and the night of the fire. What had overcome her was more than the usual frustration.

What does it mean?

She remembers her father burning on the ground, but Dr. Orchard told her that her memories are likely scrambled and unreliable. But if her burning father is what Red is so afraid of her remembering, then it must have all been his fault. He thinks that she'll send him away.

But so? He has the Fulcrum. There has to be something else. He must need her for something else, but what?

Her phone buzzed, and she knew before looking that it was Nick's Pizza. She answered as if it wasn't. "Keen."

"You're okay. I was afraid you were... inside."

She isn't ready for the smell again, but there it is, faint, and mostly smothered by relief.

"No, but those agents- their entire section. Every agent on that desk was wiped out. If this gets traced back to Russia..."

"Not 'If," Lizzie. Senator Hawkins has taken the bait like a bluegill to a cricket. And where he goes, the warmongers are sure to follow."

"Red? There was a man. I found a man all..." She trailed off. Where exactly was she supposed to go with this, anyway?

"Burned?" he finished for her. How did he know? Of course he knew. He knew because she was upset, because she should be upset. Something about the fire that he knows but she doesn't. "Where are you with Karakurt?"

"How did you know that?"

"Did Kilpatrick and the OREA have any intel?" Oh, splendid. More tit for tat. Always.

"How did you know about what had happened to the man?"

"Killy's a curmudgeon. I'd be surprised if he was cooperative."

"You know what would surprise me, Red? If YOU were cooperative."

"I'm glad you're safe, Lizzy. I'll be in touch." At that, he hung up.

-...-...-...-...-

The taskforce made some headway on a lead. When she returned to the Post Office, Liz was surprised to find Red in AD Cooper's office. Not wanting to dredge up what was still plaguing her mind in front of her boss, she got right down to business.

"We found a fully outfitted virology lab in Andropov's apartment. Think he's building a bio-weapon. We seized his notebooks, but we're gonna need an expert in microbiology who can also translate Russian."

After only a few seconds of thought, Red flicked his tongue and flashed a cheeky smile that filled her belly with nerves. He spoke not a word, but that only made her even more nervous.

In the car, on the way to his mysterious resource, Liz fumed, but for once actually stayed silent while Red poured over the notebooks. She already knew that he spoke Russian. In fact, she'd learned that on the day that they met. The fact that he could read it too shouldn't have been a surprise, but it gave her something to ponder. Her parents worked in Russian counter-intelligence, and Red speaks the language... perhaps he'd learned it while working with them, or maybe even against them?

Every sliver of truth leaves her with twenty new questions. What usually compels her is grating her nerves.

When they entered the lab, Liz and Dembe hung back and allowed Red to get ahead of them. She heard the bimbo shout before even setting eyes on her. "Reddy Bear! Oh, I could eat you alive!"

Her voice is like cayenne pepper on Liz's tongue. A miserable, eye-watering torture. She hates her instantly, and she doesn't bother to quell her hatred. It's pointless.

Barf. Red sashayed over and kissed both of her cheeks in a loud, "Mmm... Mwah!" With an arm still draped around the woman, he gave a snappy introduction. "Ginger, this is Dr. Lauren Kimberly. Lauren, my executive assistant, Ginger Lumiere."

While Red nuzzled her hair, she sized Liz up as if she were playing the roles of both a competitor and a well-meaning friend. "Hmm... Interesting look. Purposeful, but still feminine. You should try a darker shade of lipstick." It was all Liz could do not to roll her eyes as the woman gasped and declared, "I bet you could get away with a gloss!"

At that point, Red decided to move things along, tugging her more tightly against him, he said, "Lauren, we're going to have to forgo the makeover today. We're in a bit of a pinch."

She stepped back and patted his chest, "Understood. Let me see what I can do." As she walked off, Red followed.

What the hell was he doing, anyway? Was this his way of calling her out on checking him out?

That's hardly fair. He's always throwing it all out there! He's just trying to make her jealous, to gauge her reaction. Liz was almost certain of it.

Well, she wouldn't take the bait! She pushed down the persistent images of their writhing naked bodies. Careful not to ball her hands into fists, she crossed the room to where he stood, watching Dr. Kimberly.

"I've got a lead on my mom. An OREA agent, he has a CI who might know something about Katarina Rostova."

Unseen, his left eye twitched before he turned, walking away from the woman in order to deal with 'Ginger' in the way that he too often does.

"Dr. Kimberly was a tenured professor doing genome research at Stanford when she was recruited by the private sector."

Choke-worthy burned popcorn and annoyance.

He strolled around, feigning interest in his surroundings, but Liz followed, undeterred. She aggressively leaned forward over the table that physically divided them, smug in knowing that his eyes would be drawn to her chest. "I'm gonna find out the truth."

After faltering for a moment, he regained his composure and met her gaze once more, a challenge in his eyes. "She makes her real money consulting. Costs a fortune. She did, however, let me name a lipstick color- 'Fire In The Hole!'" He smacked his lips and grinned.

Disgusting, the way he fought. Dirty. Cruel. Yeah 'fire in the hole' indeed, no doubt.

As Liz turned her back on him once again, she knew that it was a victory for him, but also that he'd inevitably take it as a defeat. She took pride in that, but also shame in the fact that she was proud.

Paradoxical as ever, with him.

"I trust that you'll let me know whatever Dr. Lipstick finds." She blinked back the threatening tears in her eyes and exited in a huff, trailed only by the loud echoing of her boots on the tiled floor.

Dembe moved from the corner of the room to the doorway, where he could watch both Liz and Red simultaneously. Out in the hall, her phone rang. Tom-Jacob-Jingleheimer-Smith or whatever the fuck he's going by now. She really didn't want to talk to him, but she answered anyway, knowing that since Dembe was in earshot, it would get back to Red.

And yes, it was petty, but screw it.

"_TOM_, may I help you?"

"Jacob."

"If you say so."

"Look, I know things are complicated. I know you're going through a bad breakup... But from what I heard, the guy's a total loser. Couldn't cook, made crappy pancakes."

"You see, _Jacob_, the problem is that I was in love with that loser, and he didn't exist."

He went on as if she hadn't said anything. "So, I wanted to see if you would join me for dinner... me, specifically, Jacob. Uh, I made a reservation at 7:00 at this great little place on the corner of 32nd and M."

"I don't know."

"Well, I really hope that you'll come. Just think about it. Either way, I'll be there."

"32nd and M, you said?"

"Yeah, on 32nd and M."

"Okay, well I'll think about it then."

She hung up and stuffed her phone back into her blazer pocket. She could feel Dembe's eyes on her, casting a silent judgement that he was too discreet to voice, and she avoided them.

Well, shit. That was unexpected, but it shouldn't have been. He's been hanging around way too much, trying way too hard, and for way too long. He's the last person on earth who should have hope, but he sure gave off the appearance that he did. That strange little detail intrigued her, yes, secretly... but obliging his request would expose that secret.

It would be meaningless, then.

For the rest of the day, she and Red stuck to business. Tense. Brusque. She was "Agent Keen" and he was simply "Reddington," the loathsome Concierge of Crap. Their every interaction brought her closer to accepting Tom's dinner offer. Each second was uncomfortable, and she could tell from the lingering burnt popcorn taste that he was still angry.

Well, so what? So was she.

And what if Tom really did have the answers that he'd claimed to have? What if he really could help her? After keeping quiet for several months on that boat, Liz had her doubts. After their entire sham of a marriage, she had her doubts.

But by the end of the day, she'd found the bottom line, and it was both simple and sad - she really had nothing to lose, even if that meant using her ex.

-...-...-...-...-...-

Now, what to wear? Her choices were slim, since most of her clothes were in storage. Red had yet to mention anything about her plans, so she wasn't even sure if Dembe had told him yet. He should have! But maybe, considering their current living arrangement, he'd just decided to leave it to her instead. This complicated her wardrobe decision.

She didn't want to have to come right out and say where she was going, but she still wanted him to know. At the same time, dressing too well would probably give Tom (Jacob? She'd never get used to that, and she didn't want to, either) the wrong idea. After settling on black skinny jeans, silver ballet flats, and a solid black silk blouse, she pulled back her hair and accessorized with pearl earings and a silver necklace with a single turquoise pendant. When she grabbed her makeup bag, a slow, devilish grin spread over her cheeks.

Dr. Lipstick thinks that Red would find her more attractive with a darker shade, right? And with gloss? That was, in the very least, hidden somewhere within the myriad implications of her little 'makeover' assessment. The tiny, seemingly-innocuous tube felt like a weapon in Liz's hand, and she applied it carefully as such.

The lipstick, a gun.

The gloss, its ammo.

Her lips, the trigger.

For now, only one question remained: Did she have the lady stones to flick off the safety?

_Hell yes._

She grabbed her purse and keys and threw her shoulders back while she powerwalked towards the front door. She'd expected to find Red hanging out in the living room, since Brimley was currently conducting another heated interrogation in the study, but he wasn't there. Suddenly, her keys felt heavy in her hand, and she nervously tapped them against her thigh as she stepped outside, only to find Red and Dembe relaxing on the front porch. His lips were wrapped around a fat cigar, and god, the way he smokes is one of the most erotic things she's ever seen. Whether he was doing it for her benefit or his own was debatable, and she didn't have time for that.

She walked by without a word, but Red called out to her, "Lizzie, Dembe will drive you."

Though secretly pleased to hear that he still cared about her safety, her eyes rolled as she turned back to reply, "No, he won't."

The bodyguard's eyes flitted back and forth between them as an inevitable heat began to waft from their words.

"It isn't safe, Lizzie. You even said it yourself, that I'm always five steps ahead and got shot anyway. As long as the same or worse holds true for you, being out alone is practically a suicide mission."

"So, what, then? You're going to ask him to drop me off and pick me up again, in a few hours?"

Yeah, a few hours was a stretch - a huge one, but she wanted to make him squirm like he did to her earlier.

"No. I was going to ask him to stay there and wait in the car."

"Speaking of suicide missions, do you really think Brimley's gonna protect you if you get ambushed while Dembe's gone?"

Red laughed and shook his head. "Of course not! I'm coming too."

"Like hell you are. I'm not stupid enough to not see what you're doing. This is a game of intimidation and bullying."

The smile melted from his lips. "Lizzie, that's not what I'm trying to do at all, but if I have to bully you in order to protect you, then yes, I absolutely will. You can count on that." His words were nothing less than a challenge, and she accepted it with all she had.

"Do you even know where I'm going?" She's determined to make him say it.

"The corner of 32nd and M." If he knows where, then he also knows with whom. Dembe did tell him, after all.

"You aren't going to try to talk me out of it? That's new."

"I think we're both tired of that game. I had to 'out' Jacob to the nazis to make him come home to exonerate you. You could fairly say that I bullied HIM. He wasn't running to your aid. He was running to hide from them. Knowing that, if you still think that Jacob's worthy of you, or even of your time, then pardon me for using this word, but you said it first - 'stupid' doesn't even begin to cover the situation. Do what you want, Lizzie, but for the love of pleasure, don't die." The little twist of his words was careful. Deliberate. Spoken without even a hint of anger - only trepidation and sadness.

Huh. That was a mouthful. "It isn't like that... but even if it was, that wouldn't be any of your business."

"No, I suppose it wouldn't be, which is why I didn't want to say anything. But you... it looks like you wanted me to say it, after all, didn't you? Don't worry. I won't even try to pinpoint your motives for that."

It was as close to a lie as he's ever come, with her. He won't try to pinpoint it directly, but he'll damn sure be thinking about it, and she knows that.

Because her motives were less than innocent, she changed the subject, sort of. "It just so happens that he thinks he can help me with the photograph. He knows more than he's told me, Red. That's what really bothers you, isn't it?"

At this point, it occured to her that if the conversation were to continue, she'd be late for the dinner reservation, but she didn't care. She'd make Reddington squirm, even if it was the last thing she ever did.

"I think you know that he doesn't. Remember when he told you that your father is still alive?" _Vividly_. He went on, "Remember when he asked if I was your father?"

Ohhh that was a mistake, there. He didn't really want to bring that up. Liz wasted no time verbally sinking her teeth into his jugular. "You're also in a position to tell me how you knew what had rattled me earlier."

"You know that if you give Jacob an inch, he'll take a mile."

"Because of the fire, right?"

"Lizzie, he has an ulterior motive. The most innocent possibility is that he wants to bed you. The most? Do you even want to think about it? Because if you don't, then I will, but like I said, I wanted to leave all of that up to you."

"You kept insisting that I turn around and go back, with Dr. Orchard. What were you so afraid of me seeing?'

"I don't understand how you could even consider eating with this stranger."

"I saw him burning! I saw it!"

Red tipped his head back, shooting a plume of smoke straight up into the air. He was stalling, summoning the strength to face her, searching for a response that wasn't a lie, like he does every time. When he gave her his eyes once again, his mouth opened and closed twice without sound. As he finally willed his voice into action, all he could say was, "Yes, you saw."

He was afraid, very afraid, causing her eyes to water instantly. If only he knew how she experienced his fear. If only he knew how connected they were, with this strange sensory gift that she didn't really understand at all. It had saved both of their lives several times, and he was oblivious. Sometimes it felt like it might be the only thing that he doesn't know.

Yet sometimes, in moments such as this, she really wanted to tell him. She didn't understand that desire either. Why give him the very last thing that belongs only to her, while she gets so little of him in return?

Absurd.

Liz took several steps towards him, trying to examine his expression more closely, and he knew that too.

He tensed his jaw, chewed the inside of his cheek, and braced himself for her attack, waiting for all hell to break loose.

The storms in his eyes broke her heart.

Uncertain of how to proceed, she took a page from his own book and plucked the cigar from his hand. He eyed her curiously as she brought it to her lips and took a couple small drags. Exuding more confidence than she felt, she blew a perfect smoke ring and gave it back to him. Both noted the mark that her lipstick had made around it.

_Yes, her lips had just touched his cigar, and now it would touch his lips again._

_So close, and yet so far._

Her fingers tingled long after the brief contact with his, and they stared at each other, silent, for what felt like an eternity. She wanted to wait for him to relax, but he wouldn't.

"Bet you didn't think I could do that."

His lips pursed in cautious amusement. "It had never occurred to me that you might try."

More staring ensued. Red's choice of words had unintentionally struck a nerve... or perhaps he'd done it on purpose. Either way, it made her want to make him say it again, or at least think it. She wanted to be one step ahead. Wanted to pleasantly surprise him.

_Burn, then soothe._

_Burn, then soothe._ She'd been forgetting the second part.

But she continued to try, and to pry, just more gently. Her expression softened as she continued to gaze at him openly, and it was as if a light had been switched off in his eyes. It wasn't working at all, this time.

He didn't want her to be nice to him. What the hell?

"Red?"

He tipped his head in that adorable, curious little way that he so often does, but his brow was still furrowed.

"Why do you want me to punish you?"

His lips parted, but he wouldn't answer, so she persisted. "It's just that I... I don't want to. I don't want to do that right now. I'm sorry."

Red seemed to have forgotten about his cigar, burning just a little too closely to his fingertips for her liking. She moved into his personal space much more slowly when she took it from him this time, afraid that if he flinched, then he might burn himself.

Burn himself.

_Burn himself?_ Oh god.

Realization knocked her a few steps backwards. Her jaw dropped and her lips began to quiver. Time seemed to slow for both as the cigar started to slip from her grasp, and she reflexively, carelessly clamped down on it.

Their perfect silence was suddenly broken by the sound of the embers, hissing as they burned the sweaty heel of her palm, right on top of her scar. She gasped, dropped the cigar, ran into the house, and then up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

She locked herself in the bathroom and froze at the sight of herself in the mirror. That stupid fucking lipstick looked positively garish now. The dead nerves beneath her scar prevented this new burn from hurting so much, and she didn't really give a damn about it at all. It was only seconds before Red predictably pounded on the door.

How banal.

"Lizzie, you need to run that under cold water."

_Cold water. Cold water. Cold water_ wouldn't have been enough for his burn, so what the hell did he know, anyway? She couldn't even make sense of her own stupid thoughts.

"I'm fine," she replied, but her voice cracked, and her wobbly knees gave out, causing her to crumple into a pile on the floor.

"Will you please let me in?"

Hah! Such talent he has for striking her nerves. "You first," she replied, but she wasn't mad. She was devastated.

Her heavy implication wasn't lost on Red, but he had been throughly engulfed by an inner war. He desperately wanted to comfort her, but he also knew where this conversation would lead.

He couldn't recall ever being more terrified. It took him a few minutes to work up the nerve to speak again. "I just want to take a look at it. Show me," he implored.

She immediately choked on the scent, sucking in a raspy breath, but making no reply.

With both palms flattened on the wall beside the door, he lowered his head and tried to blink back his tears, to little effect.

They remained as they were for nearly an hour. When Liz felt safely convinced that he had left her in peace, she emerged, but literally jumped at the surprise that he was still standing there. He immediately grabbed her hand and brought it close to his eyes for a careful inspection. "Lizzie," was all that he said as he walked by, still holding onto her hand as he lead her to the sink.

She began to shiver before he had even turned on the water. The hand that wasn't in hers wrapped around her back and held her against him. Though exquisitely, perfectly warm, she began to shiver even harder.

It wasn't until he'd turned off the water that she opened her mouth to speak. Through trembling lips, she parroted his own words back to him, "I just want to take a look at it. Show me."

"Lizzie," he whispered softly, a nearly-silent, desperate prayer.

"You wanted to see mine, and I showed you. Now, show me yours."

The obvious, despicable joke rested firmly behind his lips. He instead replied, "But you thought I was gone. You didn't want to show me."

Such a feeble, pitiful response.

"I could say the same of you."

He lifted her hand and gently pressed a kiss to the fresh, bubbling blister. "You really don't need to see it, Lizzie. It's... it's disgusting. You won't be able to unsee it."

"You know I could - I could just as easily have remembered this sooner, during the thing with Braxton. I could have walked away knowing. You aren't protecting me from anything. Not here. Not now."

"But if you had, then we probably wouldn't even be here."

"What makes 'here' such a great place, anyway?"

"Lizzie, 'here' is the very best that I could ever hope for. 'Here' I still have you."

She wrapped her arms around him and tightly squeezed, resting her head against his shoulder, her face tilted to the side so that she could still watch his. "What if I were to tell you that you'll still have me?"

Head shaking, he trailed off, "I..."


	6. Chapter 6

AN: I've been working on this since Friday, and it ran a bit longer than expected. That finale, you guys! You know what it provided us? Yep, a delightful array of imaginary summertime sexytimes! What that means for this fic? Surprise surprise, it's gonna be MUCH LONGER than I'd originally planned. Timeline-wise, it's a matter of convenience.

That brings me to an owed apology. The smut that I previously mentioned? It'll be in the next chapter, I promise! Your patience and dedication is tremendously appreciated.

Plot-wise, this chapter veers away from the canon mythology regarding the night of the fire. I'm hoping it works well enough.

Disclaimer: I'm a borrower, not an owner.

-...-...-...-...-...-

"I... Lizzie, I don't think I can do that. Can we please talk for a moment? Not here."

She let go of his waist and stepped back, rolling her shoulders as if she were warming up for a fight, though she wasn't. "Okay."

Red stepped aside and allowed her to exit first and choose a room, either hers or his. She chose his. They sat down on the bed, close together, but not quite touching. She gave in to the stubborn impulse to stay silent. If he wanted to talk, then he should be the one to start. After about a minute, she began to count the seconds. At eighty-eight, he began, "First, tell me what you remembered outside, on the porch."

"Enough to know."

"Enough to know what?"

"You. I know which one was you."

He pressed his lips together tightly and nodded. That much, he had surmised, and it wasn't the most important detail, not by far. His biggest concern was that seeing his scars might trigger another swell of remembrances. "There are things in the darkness that can keep your heart from ever seeing the light again. Being shrouded in darkness makes monsters of men... the same applies to children."

"Are you suggesting that knowing what actually happened will turn me into a monster? That I'll be haunted forever?"

"Yes, but that wouldn't be your fault... It's just... beyond your control."

"Surely you understand how terrifying that is for me. Just knowing that something so unspeakably horrible happened, but not knowing what - THAT is darkness. Nobody is afraid of the dark. They fear the things that lurk within it, unseen. It's a grave vulnerability, not knowing what kind of defense to mount."

"All true, but in your case, knowing is worse. I need to know what else you remembered, just now."

"Fine... The way you were holding your cigar, the lit end was so close to your fingers. I was afraid that you might burn yourself, and it just... it put this image into my head. The man on the floor, I thought he was my father, but I was wrong... It was you."

"You weren't wrong."

"Excuse me?"

"Your father and I. We were both on the floor. He died while he was looking for you, when you were in the closet."

"What about my mother?"

"She was there, but you didn't see her that night."

"But she also died that night? Was she looking for me too?"

Red rubbed his palm over his scalp, nervously calculating the risk/benefit ratio between answering and not. "Yes, and yes."

"It's just that I - I don't understand."

"What part?"

"My father knew where I was. I remember him putting me in the closet, right before you and everyone else came in... right before the fight."

"That was another night, but... the night of the fire, we came later, while you were asleep. Your father didn't know that we were there until it was too late for him to warn you. We all thought that you had stayed in your room. That's where they were headed."

"So, it's my -"

Red quickly grabbed her hand and interjected, "No, it isn't. You were a child."

"You once said that my mother died of weakness and shame. How so?"

"Kat... well, she certainly wouldn't want me to tell you this, but..." He paused to carefully choose his words.

Was he finally going to give her another biographical puzzle piece? Her frenzied heartbeat was so far removed from the slow cadence of Red's voice that she could barely understand him when he spoke.

"... Her shame and weakness was an actional fear, turning back and trying to escape the fire before she had found you. She made it to the top of the stairs, and then turned around and headed for the back door. She almost made it."

They fell into silence again, with him patiently giving her time to process everything. Liz did that and more. "Was the cabal director there?"

A sharp, fear-induced adrenaline shot suddenly demanded a corporeal kinetic outlet. Red couldn't sit still. His fingers twitched against her knuckles as he both tried and failed to reel it in. "When did you recall that? Outside just now?"

"No. Now, now. Here. It just clicked. I was trying to figure out how he knew me, and I think... that's what you meant about me revealing myself to be a threat. It wasn't so much about the Fulcrum or even its contents. It was about me having it all this time, and what other things I might know. You had them convinced that I wasn't a threat, and now they know that I am. And that's why you knew that Braxton would soon find out about me, if you couldn't kill him first. He went straight to you because you claimed to have it, and you were the bigger threat."

"Yes."

"And the director, when I was on my way out the door, after giving him the Fulcrum, he said that I look just like my mother... so I know that he knew her."

"Lizzie, if you even think about kidnapping him and holding him in the rusty hull of a ship for interrogation, I'm going to fly you out to my island and leave you stranded there."

"Wait wait wait. Back up. Your island?"

"Fifty miles off the coast of southeast asia. Gorgeous landscapes and seascapes. It's where I recharge when I'm particularly tired of running, or when I really need to lay low. The only dangers are those not born of mankind... well, except pirates, but only rarely. Being attacked by a wild animal is like taking a nap after you've dealt with the worst that society has to offer. You'd love it there."

"Like the lionfish in Koh Ri? You're insane."

"Oh, heavens no! Well, in a way it was, after I passed out from the excruciating pain. I was thinking about another incident, with a reef shark."

"Uh huh... sounds like a great life, living in a cave, catching everything I eat, an increasingly-shortened vocabulary from the disuse of language. If I'm lucky, the contents of spilled shipping containers will wash ashore from time to time. Maybe I'll find a volleyball and name it Wilson."

"Don't be silly. The island has several houses, a garden, an orchard, and a year-round, residing maintenance staff."

"Enough! Stop trying to distract me with your stupid island. Take off your shirt."

"I can't."

"WHY?"

"Because you haven't remembered everything. If the thought of accidentally burning my fingers was enough to trigger an image of me on the floor, then I shudder to think of what my scars will bring out."

"Would a little quid pro quo help? What if I told you a secret? I have just one that I've never told anyone. One that nobody else knows or has ever known." Her most valuable asset, she once believed.

At first, Red thought that they might be unwittingly talking about the very same secret, but they weren't, because the director of the cabal knows about his.

"Rest assured that I can think of several situations in which I'd tremendously enjoy playing quid pro quo with you. As intrigued as I am by what you may tell me, unfortunately, this situation isn't one of them."

He just can't resist doing that, can he? The rumbling seismic tone with a taste that's begging to be compared to the real thing - his lips and throat. Liz decided to try her hand at fighting his fire in kind, with her own. "And... might any of those... 'situations' conveniently put you at risk for playing my version, and getting what I want?"

She's never spoken to him like that before, and god... he wasn't at all prepared for what it would do to him. With his trousers tightening, Red urgently needed to put some space between them. He stood up, balled his hands into fists and stuffed them into his pockets, walking towards the window to hide his response to her.

Fuck. His response FOR her. His response FROM her. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

Things were getting out of hand. For a moment, Liz shut her eyes and all the world dropped dead.

After a few calming breaths, she turned around and rose up on her knees to study his expression, only to find herself staring at his ass instead. "Wouldn't you?" She purred. He always does this, in those quiet, vulnerable moments - stares through the nearest window, hiding from her in plain sight.

"Not like that. Not so... flippant. Not as a bargaining chip. Not as a means to an end."

"So, what's wrong with me, then? All your stories, that little ploy with Dr. Lipstick today - I know you don't have any problems with casual sex."

"There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all, and you're right that I'm unopposed to casual sex, but Lizzie... nothing about our relationship is casual. It never has been. It never will be."

She laughed loud and humorlessly. "'Our relationship,' says the man who won't even take off his shirt in front of me."

With his excitement effectively schooled by her change in demeanor, Red turned around to face her again. "We cannot simply 'trade secrets,' Lizzie, because both of them are yours."

Suddenly, she realized that she had been wrong for many years. The most valuable secret isn't the one that you keep from others. It's the one that you don't know, even though it belongs to you, and is being held hostage by someone else.

"Then what's the ransom on my secret, Raymond? What is it that you want? What do you want me to do? Just name it." She laciviously drew out the 'n' in his name, and he made her regret it instantly.

"Stop it, Elizabeth. This is serious." He didn't raise his voice even the slightest bit, but it was ice-cold with the worst amalgam of both burnt popcorn and human flesh. "I am not your bubblegum machine. There aren't enough quarters in the world to buy what you want." He paused to take a fortifying breath and added, "There is no handle to pull, and there is nothing but poison and pain inside. I'd rather die than watch you turn into me."

As she turned around and burst into tears, drawing her knees up to her chest, something else that he had once said echoed back to her, and hit with a brand-new, horrifying meaning.

Red didn't know what to do. He stood there, frozen in place, desperate to touch her, to hold and console her, but he was afraid that doing so might have the opposite effect.

She choked out, "BECOME LIKE YOU?" Finally incensed enough to look at him, when she did, his devastated, crestfallen expression ripped her open from bow to stern. "Come... here," she pleaded, and at her urging, he was immensely relieved to comply. She threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life, keening into his chest.

Maybe his island was his safe place, but in her heart of hearts, she knew that hers was in his embrace.

The farmer parable... Stanley Cornish... the soft-spoken, good man that had become a monster, ruined for life by the terrible things he'd done. Even in that moment, in her drugged stupor, she'd known that he was talking about himself. It was weeks later before she realized why Red had really killed the stewmaker. It wasn't because he wanted to extract some sort of vengeance, and it wasn't because Cornish deserved it.

It was because Red believed that he deserved it, himself, and he's demonstrated over and over again that he still does.

Red had become dark because he couldn't escape the knowledge of what he'd done. If he's ever to even hope to see the light again, then he can't let her go dark.

But really, he's protecting her from herself.

It took Liz several minutes to calm herself enough to even lift her head. When she did, her eyes silently begged for his, but instead of meeting them, he busied himself by using his thunbs to gently brush the tears from her cheeks, actively avoiding her intense gaze. Perhaps it was for the best. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his.

"It was me."

And although her eyelids stopped her from seeing, she immediately felt everything inside of Red collapsing inward, under her hands.

With every syllable broken by hard-earned breath, she went on, "I set my room on fire. I thought... that when the smoke alarm went off, everyone would just LEAVE, and then my dad would put it out before it got too bad. I went downstairs to hide in the hall closet. I thought I would be safe in there, because that's where he put me, the first time you came, and I was so terrified... but the smoke alarm didn't go off. I... I killed them, and I almost killed you... oh my god. RED. I'm so sorry."

Liz opened her eyes and found that his were squeezed tightly shut. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, soundless, and she was thankful. She knew what he'd say - that it wasn't her fault. She couldn't bear the scent, if he was still afraid. Not in that moment.

Perhaps never.

But she would stay, and she would do everything in her power to make him feel safe, for as long as he would let her.

She closed her eyes again, and lifted one hand to cradle the back of his head, anchoring him to her as she blindly, gracelessly unbuttoned his vest with the other. His breath hitched with each button freed.

Just the shirt now. A thin layer of fine, soft fabric between herself and her truth. She knew that he still didn't want to show her, but he wasn't trying to stop her anymore, either.

As she worked on the first button of his shirt, her lips found their way to his. It wasn't exactly intentional, but it also wasn't an accident.

And it wasn't a kiss - just her lips, dry and burning hot, brushing over his.

Already bowstring-taut from head to toe, if he had any kind of reaction to the gesture, she certainly couldn't feel it. Not physically, anyway.

With the last button freed, she rested both palms on his chest and ceased all movement, finally opening her eyes and waiting for him to do the same. She didn't need him to speak, but she wanted a sign, the slightest movement of his head - any form of a green light.

But Red - he mistook her pause for fearful reluctance, and he held his breath for far longer than Liz would have thought possible. She leaned forward and nuzzled his ear before softly whispering into it, "Breathe." Right after she pulled back, his red-rimmed eyes snapped open.

He tipped his chin the side. She began with her hands on his chest, slowly winding them around his torso and under his shirt, necessitating that she lean closer and closer in order to find the uneven perimeter of his scars. Red shivered at the contact. "Are my hands cold?" She asked, pulling them back and rubbing her palms together to generate heat.

"No."

"Okay." She leaned forward and started over again, fingers threaded through his chest hair and combing through as she leaned forward and made her way around him once again.

She had anticipated something awful and tragic, knew from her vague memories that it would be.

But this.

It may have been a miracle that he'd even survived.

A strangled, choking breath escaped from her quivering lips as she leaned in, closer and closer, seeing just how far his scars ran, applying varied amounts of pressure, probing as if she could somehow also sense their depth. Her fingers met in the middle, the entire span of flesh beneath her hands gnarled and thick, yet still with more turgor than her own scar. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought it bulletproof.

Red was strong,

brave, and vulnerable

all at once.

She slowly slipped her hands upwards, both arms bent at the elbows due to the confines of his dress shirt. The scars stopped just below his collar. Before moving downwards again, she rested her chin on his shoulder, pressing her cheek against his, holding him tighter and tighter.

"Are you trying to break me?" He asked, expecting her to say 'no'

She surprised him instead. "I'm trying, yes. Is it working?"

He knew exactly what she meant.

The room seemed ten degrees hotter, but she didn't want to let him go, so she just held on, probably longer than she should have. "I know that you don't want me to apologize, but I don't care. I'm sorry. I just... I don't even have words."

"Good."

"So, you do want me to be sorry?"

"No. I don't want you to have words."

"I have all kinds of words for all kinds of things, just... not this."

Liz loosened her grip and pulled back just enough to nuzzle his sideburns. "You don't have to show me now, if you don't want to. I got more answers than I expected. More than I'm used to."

"I haven't told you anything. Too afraid to look now that you've felt, or do you just feel sorry for me?" It came out colder than he'd intended. "I'm sorry."

"Whether you meant to or not, nearly every interaction we've ever had has lead me to this. No, I'm not afraid, and no, I don't feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for what I did to you, and I... I just feel sorry in general."

"I can only imagine how frightened you were when that fight broke out the first time. My parents fought. I'd hide in my room, blasting my worn out 45s and burying my head under a pillow... anything to down out the sound."

"Wish I'd thought of that. I lit a fucking fire, Red. I didn't even think that they'd come looking for me, and the damn closet was supposed to protect me?"

"Your parents were supposed to protect you. They failed you, and so did I. I'll take off my shirt if you'd like."

Liz pulled back and smiled sweetly. Sadly. Surely. "I would." She grabbed his collar and leaned forward as if to peel the shirt from his arms, but instead pressed her lips to his.

Red flinched and pulled back like she'd burned him again. "Please don't."

"So there is something wrong with me, then."

"No, you're perfect. Absolutely perfect... but I'm not. As many things as I'm willing to be for you, a 'regret' is not one of them."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "It's just a kiss."

"It's practically torture, and you're operating under the assumption that I won't lose control."

Without breaking eye contact, she pulled off his shirt and replied, "You're operating under the assumption that I don't want you to. This isn't a means to an end. It's something new, a beginning." She rested her palm on his cheek. "You can't tell me that you don't feel this."

Red's words, gravelly and rough, tasted smooth and delicious on her tongue when he replied, "I couldn't even begin to sort through all of the things I feel right now."

She grabbed the hem of her shirt and lifted it up, over her head, and tossed it to the floor. His eyes dropped to her lacy pushup bra for just a second before he stubbornly met her eyes again, making an obvious effort not to really, really look.

"You don't have to sort through them to enjoy them."

"Do you know what would make it feel even better?"

"I'm all ears."

And nose. And mouth. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Sleep with me first."

She hummed. "With pleasure," and leaned in closer.

"You know what I mean. Stay with me here, tonight, and see if you still feel the same way in the morning. I need you to think it through. I need to know that this is more than a manifestation of guilt."

Eyeing him carefully, she slipped off the bed and stood beside it. For an agonizing moment, Red feared that he'd angered her, and that she was about to leave. When he watched her drop her hands to the button and zipper of her pants, his expression hardened with the effort to reel himself in.

"Relax. You didn't expect me to sleep in this, did you?" She stepped out of her pants and neatly folded them. The hitch of his breath was audible as she turned around and made her way to the armoir to place it on top. She wore a lacy thong that matched her bra, and oh, she wasn't playing fair at all, taking her sweet time to ensure that he got a long, hard look at her delectably curved backside. Still facing away, she reached back to unclasp her bra, slipped it off, and deposited it on top of her pants. Red caught the light curve of the side of her breast when she bent down to grab her shirt from the floor and stretched her arms upwards, showing off her long and sleek physique before the shirt eased down and covered her again.

He swallowed thickly as she stalked back over to him. "Well, do you intend to sleep in those?" Of course, she knew damn well why he was less than eager to remove his own trousers.

"I think I should."

"How well do you think I'll be able to sleep if you're uncomfortable and moving around all night?" She crawled into the bed and positioned herself behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest, taking in the sight of his scars, which looked exactly as she'd expected after feeling them. Since he offered no response to her question, she simply shrugged and climbed out of bed again to kill the lights. "Suit yourself."

"It's still a little early for sleep," Red noted.

She followed his voice back to the bed and felt her way to the opposite side to climb back in. "Would you rather be somewhere else?"

He pulled back the covers and laid down beside her. "Not a chance. Just... it might take me awhile to fall asleep."

"Me too."

They remained flat on their backs, on opposite sides of the bed for long minutes, until Liz bravely rolled on her side to face him. Moonlight filtered through the curtains just well enough for her to see the features of Red's face. "You looked more comfortable when you were shackled to a bench in the box."

"I wasn't... but you understand why it had to look that way."

"Of course, because you're Raymond Reddington, the fearsome Concierge of Crime."

"Rawr," he joked, reaching out to playfully claw at her shoulder.

"You don't scare me. I'm the hotshot strong arm of the law." She extended her thumb and pointer finger and blew on it like a warm gun.

Her laughter died quickly when Liz realized what she'd done - brought up the reason that this was unacceptable, albeit only from the perspective of an outsider. "You know that I love my job. I worked hard to get there, but I'm curious... Do you love yours?"

"I love working with you."

"Who wouldn't?" She shifted to drape an arm around his chest, careful not to disturb the bandage, silently praying that he'd put an arm around her waist and pull her closer.

But he didn't.

"Anyway, my point is that I don't care."

"About what?"

"That." She let the word hang alone, as if she'd said it all. Though it wasn't her intent, the unspoken words left him with an ineffable craving for more of her, and finally he remedied the craving by wrapping his arm around her. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply. Had she ever had a more exquisite sensory experience?

Without question, none more memorable.

"Are you smelling me?"

Oh shit.

Thankful that he couldn't see the embarrassed blush creeping up her face, she replied, "Had to."

Red turned his head and drew in the scent of her shampoo. "I'm not complaining." He had, however, waited long enough for her to explain herself. "The 'that'.. what is it? What do you not care about?"

"Oh 'that'... The professional implications of us. Of the suddenly-rapid evolution of our relationship. Of the risk involved."

"Lizzie, whether you care or not, I'm not worth the fallout or regret."

"I'll be the judge of that, and my verdict? Life is too short for regrets. Yours, I fear, may be tragically short. This self-deprecating nonsense is exhausting, so spare me."

As she did her best to engage in such a serious conversation, the pull of Red's flesh seemed to taunt her relentlessly. She gave in and pressed her lips to his carotid pulse.

"Oh, Lizzie... I don't want this to influence your decision, but you're killing me here. I'll be tremendously disappointed if daylight changes your mind."

In response, she opened her mouth and sank her teeth into the tiny scar that she'd once bestowed upon him with a pen. Red's startled gasp brought an unseen smile to her lips. "So... you do want me."

"More than anything."

"Hmmm..." Her nails slowly raked down his chest and waist before coming to a stop at his belt, which she deftly grabbed and unbuckled.

"Lizzie..." Such a delicious warning.

"If you're so eager for dawn, then it's in your best interest to take off your pants. You'll sleep better."

Red swatted her hand away and finished the job himself. "Sweetheart, I do everything better without pants."

"I'll be the judge of that too."


	7. Chapter 7

AN: First, SMUT WARNING, finally! To be honest, it isn't my best, IMO. If it leaves too much to be desired, then I recommend checking out some of my other M-rated stories - most notably Claw at your Heart, Tangled Tongues and Lips, Dream Robot, and This isn't Andy Warhol's Factory.

*If smut isn't your thing, then just skip the first two sections of this chapter. The sexytimes are gratuitous, and therefore unimportant/separate from the plot.*

Also, TOM makes an appearance that, at a glance, resembles his role in the finale, BUT DON'T WORRY. Liz isn't gonna fuck him. I'm just working in a theory that I have about his little 'change of heart' thing. If I'd have gotten Liz to show him the photo of her mother, and if I hadn't written that the director was present during the night of the fire, I'd have been able to use canon to dig further into this theory. Hopefully, I did an okay job of making a case for it anyway.

In many ways, this chapter is a re-creation of the finale that I've skewed to fit my story and lead into a fun game of summertime cat and mouse between our favorite couple and the taskforce. There's little mention of Liz's synesthesia, since she's figured out her mystery about the scent of Red's fear. Don't fret. It'll get a little more in play in upcoming chapters.

Lastly, if you're still reading this egregiously-long AN, thank you, and thank you even more for reading my story. Your reviews have been blowing me away! I can't get over how sweet and supportive you guys are. It makes me want to work much harder to live up to the praise given.

Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the show, and receive no monetary gains for borrowing them.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

In Red's bedroom, Liz had a freudian imagery-laden dream about the night of the fire. After setting her bedroom ablaze, they were rescued by a winged snake that spoke to her in Latin and slithered away into the cool night air. She glanced down at her body, and found herself fully grown, but Red had been reduced to a colorless, amorphous blob, as if he'd melted in the flames. With shaky hands, she set about the task re-creating him, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't smooth out his shoulderblades, and his skin remained a darker, ashen shade of red.

Devastated by her perceived failure, she thrashed beneath the covers. Red rolled to the side and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest and holding on tightly until she stilled again. If the unseen ghosts of her nightmares wanted her, they'd have to fight him first.

No one beats him.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

Just before dawn, Liz was awakened by the sound of her name and Red's hand grazing over her breast.

"God, Lizzie..." His voice was mostly air, seemingly-disjointed by pleasure.

She pressed backwards, leaning into the solid length at the small of her back, not realizing that he was asleep. "Mmm..."

Suddenly he froze, wide-awake and mortified, connecting the dots. He rolled onto his back and grabbed the pillow beneath his head. The sound of his labored breathing filled the room.

Liz decided that it was close enough to morning, and she had no plans to leave the ache between her legs unanswered. Intentional or not, he'd started it this time, and he'd finish it too. She rolled over and straddled his hips too quickly for any manner of protest. Red's sharp intake of breath signaled a victory. She pulled off her shirt and threw it to the floor, eliciting a low growl and a reflexive upward thrust of his hips.

His fever-hot lips tasted like nothing but themselves, and the way he used them reminded her of an orchestra conductor, setting a languid, sensual pace and signaling exactly when and where he wanted her to come in. With a slight tip of his chin, he drew her breasts closer to his face and took one into his mouth. His hands pulled her hips downwards to grind against him.

Within a matter of seconds, everything inside of her tensed and quivered, and oh god, she's -

He pushed her backwards and broke contact, releasing her nipple with a 'pop' and eliciting a frustrated groan. He sat up and leaned forward to whisper into her ear, "Sorry, I hadn't anticipated you being so... responsive, but I don't want you to come until I'm inside you." His low tone was spicy, hot apple cider and honey on her tongue. Familiar enough, but she'd never tasted it with such intensity as now. Starved and desperate, she'd do anything in the world for this.

For him.

The way she sank her teeth into her bottom lip and nodded made Red want to roughly grab her and pound into her until she saw stars, but he instead rolled her onto her back and took his time pulling off both his boxers and her panties, deliberately trying to calm himself down. He turned on his side and kissed her again, plunging his tongue past her lips and teasing her belly and inner thighs with both hands.

In an effort to hurry him along, Liz wrapped her fingers around his cock and began to stroke him. Just before his eyes slipped shut, he caught the sight of hers widening, momentarily intimidated. Is this what women are remembering when they greet him with that glazed-over look in their eyes, she wondered, or is it more?

Probably more.

A rush of possessive jealousy grabbed her from the inside, but with each deft flick of her wrist, she drew nearer to the present tense. "Oh my god, Lizzie..."

Until

Red finally pressed his thumb against her clit and buried two fingers inside of her, and all conscious thought escaped at once.

Both were reduced to a writhing mess of desire-laced moans. She was just so, so ready for him that he couldn't bear the ache of not being inside of her for another minute. He parted her thighs and situated himself between them. "Last chance to change your mind," he said.

"Like hell, Raymond!"

Music to his ears.

He kissed her with everything he had, one arm looped around her back, lifting her up and crushing her breasts against him, ignoring the stabbing pain between his ribs. Both were out of breath and gasping for air when he gazed downward and slipped inside of her in a one single, drawn-out motion. Without thought, the long-deprived beast within him took over, and he pulled out and slammed back into her three times in succession, totally lost, mesmerized by the way her eyes rolled back with each thrust.

A startled, pain-laced gasp reeled him in, and he took a deep breath and stilled himself completely. The intensity of his visceral desire for her frightened him. "I'm sorry. I - I just.." he stammered.

She shut him up by grabbing the back of his head and forcing his lips down to hers. She lifted her hips to encourage him to keep going, which he was more than happy to do, but slowly.

Tenderly.

All questions about her identity suddenly had a singular, fulfilling response, and she chanted it to him repeatedly, in time with the roll of his hips. "I'm yours." She hadn't lost sight of everything else that she was, but in the moment, it was the only thing that mattered.

Truly.

His reply matched hers in tenor. "I've always been yours."

Of course he had. Of course.

But she wanted more. The hands at his shoulders moved downwards, tracing the little rivulets of his scars, and further down to the ass that had distracted her every time Red paced around the war room - that had so often caught her eye when she was supposed to be thinking about other things. She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her nails into the flesh she had victoriously claimed as her own, pulling him down and rising to meet each thrust. "Harder, Ray. You aren't going to break me." She squeezed her inner muscles around him, leaving him with little choice.

He grabbed her hands and pinned them to the mattress, pushing himself up to watch the rise and fall of her chest, her quivering abs, and sharp edges of her perfect hips, synced perfectly with his own. She was close, so close that Red could almost feel it already. He released her hands to grab onto her hips and adjust the angle.

She only had enough time to gasp before tipping over the edge. "Raymond, I-" With great effort, he maintained the pressure that she needed, riding out her climax and triggering his own. The pulse of his release kept her soaring, squeezing every last drop from his loins until he gave out and collapsed against her chest with a shuddering moan.

Utterly spent.

Deliciously complete.

As they drifted off to sleep again, both lamented the time they had wasted by being at odds with each other. Together, they were right.

-...-...-...-...-...-

She should have just stayed in his bed. That's what Elizabeth Keen found herself thinking over and over, all day long. Screw the cabal. Screw Karakurt. Screw Connolly. Screw Tom/Jacob-whatever. She should have just stayed. in. bed.

Where, of course, she would still be screwing Red.

Instead, she returned to work and found herself framed by the cabal for both the previous day's OREA bombing and the murder of senator Hawkins.

After escaping Connolly's clutches at the post office, she and Cooper got a lead on an address, but before they made it there, Connolly hauled in Charlene for questioning, so Cooper had to go. With Red too busy distributing the contents of the Fulcrum, that left Liz all alone to break into Andropov's hideout.

Old habits die hard. Pushing out thoughts of how she might later explain this decision to Red, she found a payphone and called Tom.

"Tom? Listen, I need your help."

"It's Jacob. Liz, I've been looking for you everywhere. Where are you?"

"Looking for the man responsible for setting me up."

"Where's Reddington?"

"Do you really expect me to tell you that?"

"Liz, you can't do this by yourself. Those people are dangerous. Come with me. I can get you out. It's gonna be okay."

"If I can clear my name, I'll be free to go anywhere I want. I don't know you, Jacob, but now would be a good time to prove that you're someone worth knowing."

"Maybe if you'd shown up to dinner last night..."

"Are you going to help me or not?"

"Fine. Meet me at the Gangplank marina. Slip 42."

"I'll be there in fifteen."

-...-...-...-...-...-

She found Tom lounging on the deck of his new boat in a pair of khakis, boat shoes, aviator sunglasses, and a crisp white button-down shirt - a new disguise. The detestable tattoo on his neck? Miraculously lasered and healed. He was clearly dressed to take off in his boat, not to roust a terrorist, and he laughed when Liz raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"I have an address. Let's go."

"This is a bad idea, Liz."

"If you aren't going to help me, I'll just go alone."

His mirrored sunglasses impeded her view, but she was nearly certain that he rolled his eyes.

"Alright, but I'm driving."

"Where did you get a car?"

"It's a loaner."

Afraid that he might change his mind about helping, she chose not to call him out on not answering her question.

-...-...-...-...-...-

Upon their arrival at the address, Liz deftly picked the lock, ignoring Tom's amused smirk. "I see that Sam taught you well," he quipped, flicking the safety of his gun. "Here, let me go in first."

She stayed close on his heels at first, and then ducked into one room while he entered another. After clearing it, she slowly crept back in Tom's direction, and from the doorway, she saw him remove a thumb drive from Andropov's laptop and quickly pocket it, unaware that she was watching.

Strange.

She retreated just in time to hear a loud crash in the kitchen. Without a second thought, she and Tom gave chase down the fire escape and into the alley. Andropov made it to his car first, and Liz was glad that Tom had that curiously acquired Ford Mustang. Only a few blocks away, he leaped out of his vehicle and sprinted towards another. Instead of the refuge that he'd expected, the vehicle's occupants opened fire on him, Tom, and Liz. They ducked down and returned fire, but to no avail.

Andropov took a bullet in his heart, and Liz's arm was grazed as well. She dropped to her knees at his side with an anguished wail. "I needed him! I needed him to clear me, goddamnit!"

It wasn't until Tom squeezed her shoulder, imploring her to get out of there before police arrived, that she remembered the thumb drive in his pocket. Without a word, she got up and followed him back to his car, and then onto the boat.

All this time, he made no mention of what he'd found. When it finally became clear that he had no intention whatsoever of telling her about it, she began plotting to take it from him. She took off her blazer to let him tend to her arm, and tried to bite back the disgust for what she was about to do. Her eyes watered in despair, and she used that to her advantage, incorporating it into the act.

"Today, In the alley..." She intentionally trailed off, drawing his curiosity.

"What about the alley?"

"It's the weirdest thing. In that moment with the bullets flying and the glass... one thing kept running through my head... 'The boat, the boat. Why didn't you just get on his boat?'"

"Well, you're here now."

She nodded, biting her lip and giving her best doe eyes. "Tell me what to do."

When he didn't respond, she began to worry that the plan might not work. Instead of giving up, she redoubled her efforts, gritting her teeth and wincing to make him believe it was from physical pain.

"What's wrong?" He asked a little too sweetly.

She recognized that tone and smile. It was Tom Keen, trying to snow her again, not Jacob Phelps.

"I don't want to regret anything."

"What could you possibly regret?"

She leaned in closer. "Not saying yes."

"Yes to what?"

"You. Take me with you."

He shook his head, but she could see the glimmer of delight in his eyes. "Don't say that."

"All we have to do is go."

"Liz, if you go away with me, you'll never get answers. You'll never find out who you really are."

Since when did he give a damn about that, anyway? His intentions were transparent. He had to put up a minimal fight.

"I don't need to know who I am to know what I want."

His lips were mere inches from hers when he asked, "What do you want, Liz?"

"You."

She couldn't will herself to kiss him first, but fortunately, she didn't have to. He closed the gap between them, and before she knew it, it was like the store manager in Nebraska all over again, but Tom is too smart to be so easily fooled. She aggressively deepened the kiss and stood up to grope him all over, starting at his shoulders and haphazardly moving from place to place with no discernable pattern.

When he began to tug on her blouse, it spooked her into making her move too quickly. With one hand at the back of his head, she slipped the other into his pocket. He immediately grabbed her wrist, but he was just a little too late. She squeezed her fingers into a fist around the thumb drive and put all of her weight into the hand on his head, pulling it down to connect sharply with her knee as she thrusted it upwards. The bridge of his nose broke with a sickening crack, and blood gushed out, staining his new sunny-weather disguise.

He groaned and stumbled backwards in a daze, reaching for his gun. "It's not what you think!"

But Liz was faster. She grabbed her own and clocked him on the forehead, knocking him unconscious.

This time, she wanted to kill him. Really, she did, but there was more to this story. There had to be. She rolled him onto his stomach, used zip ties to bind his wrists and ankles together, and then grabbed a rope to tie him to the bolted down bed, using a tricky knot that Sam had taught her ages ago.

Since his laptop was open on the table, she popped in the thumb drive and found a treasure trove of evidence that detailed plans for destroying the lives of every member of the taskforce. Never one to waste time, Liz pocketed the thumb drive and pistol whipped Tom one last time. After doing a quick sweep to make sure there was nothing within reach that he could use to escape, she stole his phone, laptop, and the gun that he dropped.

In case he was only pretending to be knocked out, she said, "You were right, Tom. We never really know anyone, do we?"

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

The whole fucking cabal will have to answer for a lot of things, starting with Tom Connolly. Flanked by Cooper, Liz laid out her demands to the smiley glad-hand.

"You're gonna exonerate me by prosecuting Karakurt, the real killer of those 14 agents and Senator Hawkins. You're going to agree not to press charges against Charlene. You're going to reinstate Agent Cooper, and you're going to convey to the Director that he is not to touch Raymond Reddington."

Connolly, that arrogant prick, laughed as if genuinely amused. "Why would I agree to any of that?"

Cooper jumped in. "Because if you refuse, we'll take the evidence to the Bureau."

"I own the Bureau."

"Then we'll go to a federal judge."

"Good luck with that. You'll need it. Have you forgotten how easily we made Judge Denner suppress first-degree murder charges against you, Agent Keen? Did you wonder why I pretended not to know your ex-husband? Glad you're not a real spy, or you would have figured that one out right away. Although... I must admit that I'm a little surprised. After Jacob called to tell me that you were crawling back to him for help, I thought you'd be shark bait by now."

"I guess neither of us are perfect, are we?" Liz asked, smirking.

"It was almost pathetic, really. He was all too happy to team up with me. Didn't you wonder why the skinheads haven't killed him yet, Agent Keen? The river of influence runs deep."

"Oh, he's very pathetic. You should see him now." Her eyes narrowed as her smirk widened further.

"No thanks. Look around. Why do you think I'm here? There's a banquet tonight, fraternal order of police. I'm the keynote speaker, by the way. Four hours from now, I'm going to be on that stage, announcing that my office has secured an indictment against the members of a rogue task force."

"This task force was authorized by the FBI and the DOJ," Cooper replied, not letting on that his confidence was beginning to waver.

"By my predecessor at the DOJ. You're going to prison, Agent Keen. Donald Ressler? His little oxy addiction will get him drummed out of the Bureau. Samar Navabi will be extradited to Iran, where she will stand trial for the murder of one of their top nuclear scientists. Charlene, Harold, even Agent Mojtabai." His voice tasted like maple syrup, reminding her of Tom's pancakes, and it made Liz want to vomit. She stood with her arms crossed, nonplussed by the patronizing man's little tirade. None of it was news to her, until he crossed a line that she'd never allow anyone to cross, ever. "We have a little something in mind for all of you, including treason charges and the death penalty for Reddington."

He turned his back and began to walk away, not watching as she drew her pistol and aimed it at the back of his head. "So are we finished here? Because I think it's cocktail hour," he added dismissively, turning back again to crack a wise-ass grin. His eyebrows raised for a split second at the sight of her gun, but then he broke into boistrous laughter. "Oh. What are you gonna do, Agent Keen, arrest me?"

No. No, she isn't.

Cooper seemed to recognize the wild look in her eyes. Like the good man that he is, he tried to rein in the rapidly-escalating situation. "Keen, put it down."

"I'm nothing. I am a cog in a very, very large wheel. Shoot me, and somebody at least as powerful will take my place. You just won't know who." If that was his idea of pleading for his life, then it's too bad that he wouldn't have a chance to improve upon it.

Cooper tried to implore her once again, "Agent Keen, if you do this, you become everything they say you are."

"I can't let him." Nobody threatens Raymond Reddington and walks away.

"Elizabeth, listen to me. That conversation we had in my hospital room, the good person I told you I didn't want to lose..." She might later regret doing this in front of him, but all she could see was red - both the color and the man. Cooper's words ceased to register as he continued, "The agent you were before all of this- you do this, and she's gone."

She pulled the trigger and watched the evil piece of trash hit the floor in slow motion.

"Keen... Run!"

Liz dropped the gun and finally heeded his advice. When the door closed behind her and she stepped into the DC sunlight, she whispered an unheard apology to Cooper.

She'll miss him.

Shit. Now what?

Careful to keep her head down, Liz palmed a cellphone from a random passerby and ducked into an alley. Seeking a chance to help the only living witness to her crime, she quickly dialed her partner.

"Ressler."

"Hey, it's me."

"Keen? Where the hell are you?"

Nice try.

"Listen to me. Harold Cooper- he had nothing to do with this."

"You need to turn yourself in."

Clearly, he was missing the point.

"Did you hear me? Cooper is innocent!"

"Liz, you are a wanted fugitive. You just murdered the Attorney General of the United States. You have to come in."

"I can't. Listen, you should know that he was going to blackmail every member of the taskforce."

"Damn it, Liz, wake up! You keep running, and you will be hunted down."

In another situation, his intentions may have been endearing.

"I know."

"By me."

"I know, because my actions just saved your job with the FBI. Do what you gotta do, Ress. I understand."

"Don't make me do this. Please, Liz, tell me where you are."

"You want to bring someone in? Start with Tom. Slip 42 at the Gangplank marina."

Without saying goodbye, Liz hung up before Aram could ping her location. She balled her free hand into a fist and pressed her forehead against the cool brick wall of her temporary hiding spot. After taking a deep breath, she called Red.

He was obviously expecting her to call, because he answered on the first ring and greeted her by name, his voice laced with both worry and relief. "Lizzie."

But god, it was so good to hear his voice. "I need your help."

"Where are you?"

Ah, the million dollar question.

"I killed Tom Connolly."

"I know." Of course he does. "Where are you?"

She tentatively poked her head out to check the nearest street signs. "I'm on, uh, 7th and L, northeast."

"If you can, stay right where you are for now. I'm gonna call you back in two minutes with an address, and then I need you to get there as quickly as possible. Keep your wits about you, but don't worry, Lizzie. I'm gonna get you out."

Because she has him,

and he has her.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

As he exited his Benz, Red wore the grim expression of a war-weary veteran returning to battle - hugging his best friend as if they'd never meet again.

He sat beside her on the bench and took her hand, but wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Dembe isn't coming with us?"

"He is, but not yet. He's overseeing local operations, keeping an ear to the ground."

"What about Hudson and Stuart?"

"Mr. Kaplan is tending to them."

"Why won't you look at me?" He worked his jaw like he had something to say, but didn't. "Cooper was never sick. Connolly cooked up the entire thing. The cabal wasn't just after me. They were going to take us all down, and then kill you. I couldn't let him."

"I know. Harold called."

... which meant that he already knew about Tom, and was mad about her going to him.

"You had work to do. I couldn't ask Ressler for help."

"Dembe could have gone with you."

"He was already helping you. And by the way, if I hadn't gone to Tom, then he wouldn't have pocketed Andropov's thumb drive, and we wouldn't know that he had teamed up with the cabal. I'm sorry that you're pissed off, but by all accounts, I saved our asses today."

"No."

"No?"

"He was going to kill you, Lizzie."

"But he didn't."

"Did you kill him?"

"No."

Red dropped her hand and shoved his own into his pocket, thwarting any chance of her reclaiming it. "Great..." He muttered.

"What?"

"You said that he 'pocketed' the thumb drive, and you didn't kill him. It doesn't take a genius to figure out how you got it back."

"I didn't sleep with him, if that's what you're thinking. And it's not like I let him go. I broke his nose, knocked him out, and left him hog-tied for Ressler to pick up. I know that I didn't get shit out of him while he was my hostage, but Samar's more skilled at advanced interrogation. Killing him would be the easy way out. He deserves to suffer."

Red smiled smugly, but still wouldn't look at her. "Agent Navabi is more skilled at a lot of things."

"Nice, Red. That's really nice." As she shifted her weight to stand, he reached out and grabbed the back of her blazer, keeping her seated.

"Relax, Lizzie. You already know that she works for me. Aren't you dying to know in what capacity?"

"Not anymore."

"Eyes and ears, Lizzie. Eyes and ears. I don't like surprises. She keeps me abreast of the activities within the taskforce, and she guards my interests. Yes, of which you are one. And before you get mad, remember that the taskforce now has its own blacklist, and you and I are the only ones on it."

Huh. Well, that's helpful.

"So she'll tip us off if they get too close..."

"Exactly, and for the record, my involvement with her is strictly professional, never carnal... but I'm glad to see that we're both equally capable of jealousy." He took her hand again and laced their fingers. "So, if I forgive you, will you forgive me?"

Yes, a million times.

In response, she squeezed his hand and planted a quick kiss on his lips. Red's audible sigh of relief was broken when an unmarked van pulled up in front of them. "That's us," he said, placing a hand at the small of her back.

In the back seat, he took her hand again. "By now, the taskforce has ascertained that I'm getting you out, and no doubt someone is on their way to head us off at the hangar. Unfortunately for them, my jet is currently cruising at 30,000 feet, on its way to an airstrip in Blacksburg. We should be there in about four hours."

Liz put her head on his shoulder. "Thank you."

He rested his own head on top of hers. "Anything for you, Lizzie. Anything."


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Hello readers! Our little story is taking a turn into a new direction/dynamic. It begins with the events unfolding in DC, but after this chapter, updates from DC will all be told in the form of phonecalls between Samar and Red, Samar and Liz, or Dembe and Red. There's just no fun writing scenes without my OTP.

Chapter highlights are vulnerable Red and sexy, sassy Red, and you can expect much more of both as the story moves along.

Thank you for reading/reviewing, and if you have any requests for things you'd like to happen on Red's island, lay 'em on me. I'm wide open to suggestions.

Disclaimer: All borrowed, nothing gained.

-...-...-...-...-...-

"Son of a bitch," Tom groaned, tugging at his restraints as Agent Ressler cautiously descended the stairs below deck in his boat.

The agent whistled and shook his head at the bloody tableau laid out before him. "And to think I once offered to beat your ass for Keen. Looks like she can take care of herself."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Tom replied.

"No? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like she did a number on you."

"Have you found her yet?"

"I fail to see how that's any of your business, pal."

He grinned and shook his head. "We aren't pals yet. I'll take that as a 'no'."

Ressler didn't like his use of the word 'yet'. "I'm surprised you bought a boat after being a prisoner on one. Guess you just missed it. I'm no profiler, but it looks a lot like Stockholm syndrome to me."

"Blah blah blah. How about you put a bullet in my head and put me out of my misery?"

"Oh no. I'm gonna put you in a box, give you a jumpsuit, bring you a doctor, and then as-"

"And then as soon as the doctor deems me healthy enough to be tortured, you'll bring in a few goons in suits to work me over. Then, you'll take the video home and jerk off to it, right?"

Ressler chose not to respond, and instead approached to cut off the rope and zip ties from his ankles, and then roughly hauled Tom up to his feet, leaving the wrist restraints in place. "If you try anything funny, you'll soon find yourself praying for that bullet." He lead his prisoner up the stairs, where he was flanked by Agent Navabi, both careful to keep him in line.

"The infamous Tom Keen. I'm surprised we haven't met sooner. I've heard so much about you," she purred.

"Then you know that 'Tom Keen' isn't my name."

"So little of your life was actually spent as 'Jacob Phelps'. For the sake of convenient familiarity, I think we'll just stick with 'Tom'."

He shook his head. "Whatever you say, boss."

Ressler hastily Mirandized him and pushed him into the back of his government-issued Suburban. "Watch your head."

During the drive to the blacksite, Tom spoke up from the backseat, "Whenever you decide that you need some help finding Liz and Reddington, I recommend asking nicely."

Ressler chuckled. "Not gonna happen."

"We'll see."

-...-...-...-...-...-

"I'm surprised that you don't have an airstrip," Liz remarked. "Fifty nautical miles feels like a lot."

"Not a fan of boats, or the open ocean?" Red asked. "Guess Tom didn't really have a chance then, did he?"

"Hah! No, he really didn't, but that's not what I meant. It just seems a little inconvenient. From what you described, your island sounds big enough to have one."

"Yes, I could, but an airstrip is practically an invitation for unwanted visitors. Of arguably-equal importance is the vast array of endangered species that call it 'home', and I wouldn't want to clear that much land in such a biodiverse ecosystem."

"Aw, it's like your own little wildlife reservation."

He shrugged. "I suppose you could say that. Poachers are high on the list of unwanted visitors, especially for the tigers."

"Tigers? Seriously?"

"Truly majestic creatures..." The obvious awe in his voice did nothing to reassure her.

"And to think I wanted to bring Hudson. He wouldn't stand a chance."

"I'm sure he'd be fine."

"My twenty-pound dog versus a five hundred-pound tiger?"

"Actually, they can weigh over eight hundred pounds."

"Seriously? You'll have to explain how that would be 'fine'."

"If he lives indoors and doesn't go out alone, the two would never meet. And tigers are shy. They're solitary. They don't go digging through human garbage or swimming in our pools like bears."

"They're still apex predators."

"You say that as if it makes them inherently sinister."

Tired of the conversation, Liz stepped back from the rail at the bow of the ship, and took a seat nearby, watching Red instead of their surroundings. He seemed to be in some sort of daze, spellbound by the nothingness around them, rocking as easily with the motion of the water below as he walked on dry land. Initially, she was vaguely surprised that he didn't follow her, but the longer she watched him, the more it made sense. A few minutes later, he must have felt her eyes on him, because he turned around and leaned back against the railing, smiling with his eyes so adorably crinkled.

"I'm not implying that you were being untruthful, but there's another reason for not having an airstrip, isn't there? You actually miss being in the Navy, don't you? You miss the open ocean."

"The sea has never been friendly to man. At most, it has been the accomplice of human restlessness."

"Is that a quote?"

"Joseph Conrad, but in regards to what you said, no, I don't miss being in the Navy. If I could go back, I wouldn't have enlisted. But this... it is my favorite part of the journey to the island."

Liz immediately understood the subtext - what he wasn't saying aloud. She got up again and wrapped her arms around him. "Because it kept you away from them, right?"

"Whenever I'm completely surrounded by water, it almost feels like... like they're still back there, waiting for me. It isn't so much the surroundings though, as it is the taste and smell of the salty air. It's strange how our senses are so linked with memories." He paused, waiting for some kind of reply, but Liz was silent. "Have I lost you there?"

"No. No, you haven't. That actually... that makes perfect sense to me. I get it."

"Oh?"

"Probably more than you'd believe."

He pulled back a little, eyeing her curiously. "I'll take your word for it."

She found it strange, the way she wanted to share her secret with him. It wasn't all the time. It wasn't even most of the time, but in those quiet, vulnerable moments when he allows a little more of himself to be exposed, she sometimes feels compelled to do the same.

A broad grin suddenly spanned her sea breeze-flushed cheeks. "Is that it, right over there?"

"Dao Island."

"Why'd you name it that?"

"I didn't. It came with the name, and it's quite fitting, if a little unimaginative."

"Really? How so?"

"Filipino for 'large timber tree'."

"Well, from here, it certainly looks lush."

"That it is."

-...-...-...-...-...-

Agent Samar Navabi paced back and forth in front of Tom Keen, who was tight-lipped and shackled to a chair. She usually loves this part of her job.

It isn't the act of torture that she so enjoys. It's the duality of playing both sides of the board and analyzing them simultaneously. It's the arch of an eyebrow, a coy smile, and the deception of asking questions while pretending not to already know the answers.

"You really have no idea where they are, do you?" She asked for at least the tenth time.

"I know a lot more than you think, but as I said, you aren't getting shit out of me until I get a deal."

She stopped pacing and smirked. It's almost too easy to patronize him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Ressler tapping on the other side of the glass, requesting her attention. She glanced up at him without turning her head. "I'll be right back."

"Looking forward to it already."

Smartass.

Ressler waited for the door to shut behind her and said, "We're totally screwed. You realize that?"

"Can't say I do." Ah, the truth.

"I've spent the better part of my career chasing down Reddington. You know what it got me?"

"Surely you've learned a little more about him since he turned himself in."

"Yeah, that he has more money than OPEC, we have the same blood type, and there's no line he won't cross to help Elizabeth Keen."

"That's a little hyperbolic. What's your point?"

"I don't think we have a choice."

He couldn't possibly be serious. "Are you honestly suggesting that we offer a deal and hear him out?"

"Not yet, but I think you should step it up a little, you know? Get a little more aggressive with him... or ah, advanced."

Samar cracked her knuckles and smiled. "Sure thing, Assistant Director Ressler."

"Just 'til Cooper's reinstated."

"Do you think that they'll let him come back? Think he'll even want to?"

"I don't know. I'm just trying not to get too comfortable with the title."

"May I be candid for a moment?" She asked.

"By all means."

"If Tom really knew how to find Agent Keen and Reddington, do you think she would have left him there for us? She was your partner. You know her better than I do. Do you think she's that stupid?"

"She married him."

"She divorced him too."

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

As soon as she stepped off of the boat and onto the dock, Liz pulled off her shoes and scampered towards the shoreline.

In order to cope with the great uncertainty of her future with Red, she had to indulge the child within. Only days ago, they couldn't spend more than an hour together without fighting.

To assume that love-making would put a stop to that would be foolish.

But the fact that it actually was love-making was another problem in and of itself. _Love-making. Making love_. Not having sex. Not hooking up. Not fucking. Neither had worked up the guts to label it as such, or even to utter aloud those 'three little words'.

So... for the sake of her sanity, Liz pushed it from her mind and did her very best to approach the situation as if it were an adventurous vacation from which she may never return. She dug her toes into the sand and picked up a handful to inspect it for tiny seashells, further endearing herself to Red without even trying.

When she felt his eyes on her back, she turned around, grinning. "It's beautiful, Red!"

"And so are you. Come on. We'll get settled in at the house, and if you'd like, we can hit the beach later."

"Sounds good."

The world beneath the rainforest canopy felt surreal and other-worldly. It was noisy, abuzz with the sounds of tropical life, and the combined din had the taste of an apropos blend of lemonade and grapefruit. Thank goodness. An unpleasant taste would have been enough to squelch all hope for a bearable island experience.

Red lead her by the hand along the quarter-mile footpath that ran from the beach to the villa. "Gosh, I didn't expect it to be THIS far in. Guess I won't be venturing down to the beach alone," she half-joked.

"That's up to you, of course, but I'd certainly prefer it if you didn't. Any of the property caretakers can escort you."

"So... no nude swimming or sunbathing, then. That's too bad."

He quirked his lips and waggled his eyebrows in delight. "Sweetheart, if that's your plan, I'll go with you every day. What's the point of having your own island if you can't be naked whenever and wherever you please?"

"You'll have to help me with my sunblock."

He tore his gaze from the path ahead to rake his eyes down the length of her body. "With great pleasure."

She gave him a gentle smack on the butt. Frolicking nude on a beach with Red... The idea was silly and sexy and intensely enticing. Add a cigar to the mix and all bets are off. She's a goner, for sure.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by the blare of a loud, echoing trumpet-like sound. Liz practically jumped out of her skin in surprise. "What the hell is that?"

Red chuckled and squeezed her hand. "Just wait. It'll happen again." He was right, but the second and third blasts came from another direction, and he began to laugh harder. "It almost sounds like they're playing Marco Polo."

"They... ELEPHANTS?"

"Seized from the Mombasa cartel. It's a thin herd, all male."

"Are they uh... tame?"

"We can't ride them, if that's what you mean."

"No. It's just that if they're Mombasa elephants, then they have a good reason to be afraid of people. I don't want to scare one and get trampled."

"I can't say for sure, but they've been here for a few years, and I think they feel relatively comfortable around people. I wouldn't consider them tame enough to approach, but the sight of a human won't trigger a stampede."

"That's a relief."

"Except for Trouble."

"What kind of trouble? Trouble with what?"

"Trouble's the elephant that arrived as a sickly, orphaned calf. Hastings and his wife kindly took care of him until he was big enough to join the herd, but they also spoiled him rotten. So now, Trouble sees people as treat dispensers that exist for the sole purpose of being groped to find one. He earned his name."

"Only with you would I ever find myself at risk for being objectified and molested by an elephant. Only with you, Red."

He flashed a happy little grin. "Life's a cabaret."


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Lizzie settles into her new bedroom and she and Red have a little sexytime on the beach. Mostly PWP, M-rated.

Thanks for reading/reviewing and I hope you enjoy it!

-...-...-...-...-

Liz had just finished a self-guided tour of her Dao Island bedroom and bathroom when she heard a gentle knock on the door. "Come in," she said.

Red opened the door and entered, both hands clasped in front of himself in a beseeching manner. "Is everything to your liking?"

It was, of course. Mostly.

She found a closet full of invariably expensive clothing, which made her a little nervous, but it was tasteful. The bathroom was fully stocked with anything that she could possibly need. Above the four poster bed hung a series of Picasso sketches of jumbled, nude women. Anywhere else, Liz would have assumed that they were reproductions, but here, in Red's home, they could only be originals.

"It's great, thank you. I wasn't expecting to have my own bedroom."

"You're more than welcome to share my bed whenever you'd like, but I thought you should have your own space too - somewhere that you can safely get away from me to be alone, should you so choose."

"If you continue to be this sweet and considerate, then I won't want to... but that was the point, wasn't it? You gave me another place to go so that sleeping with you would be a choice - my choice. Well played, Red."

He grinned. "Partially, yes, but I'd also prefer that you not take off into the forest whenever I inevitably draw your ire in one way or another."

"Right. Safe. Got it."

"And I don't want to crowd you. Actually, I don't want to crowd myself, either. We're both more accustomed to solitude."

Hearing that they shared the same apprehensions reassured her immensely. It helped to level the playing field.

"That we are... Do you mind it, though? I mean, solitude is a consequence of your... for lack of a better word, lifestyle. One could argue that it isn't by choice."

Red stared at her for an uncomfortably long time, slowly blinking. She was about to take it back when he finally said, "I don't know. I'm usually okay with it. Sometimes I crave it." He continued to stare, but with his jaw slightly lowered, debating whether or not to say whatever was on the tip of his tongue.

"What?"

"You, Lizzie. What about you? Do you mind solitude? Do you miss..."

He didn't want to say her ex-husband's name.

"Not really. Even when I was married, I craved solitude, but Tom intentionally crowded me. It's strange because back then, the only thing I really minded was the fact that I didn't mind being alone. He'd go away for what he claimed were teacher conferences, and I'd find myself relieved that I could work late and not have to apologize for it at the end of the day. I felt guilty and flawed for being unable to foster a deeper connection with my husband."

Why was she telling him all of this, anyway?

As if he could read her mind, Red sat down beside her at the foot of the bed. "The baby," he mumbled. It wasn't a question.

"A desperate bid to make myself give a damn, I guess. A forced connection that I hoped would bring me closer to my husband."

"I imagine he thought the same."

"No, he didn't. He was content with faking it because that's all his job entailed. I wanted it to be real."

"But he wanted the baby in order to bring you closer to him."

Liz put her head on his shoulder with a heavy sigh. "Remember when you said that there was nothing wrong with me? That when you love someone, you have no control?"

"Vividly. Too vividly."

"Is that because the control's relinquished, or is it simply never there in the first place?"

"Well, at first, I think that 'confiscated' is a better fit than 'relinquished', since control is initially taken while you're powerless to stop it. But after - after love has established itself and taken root in your soul... to keep it alive, you relinquish the pieces of control that you sporadically acquire with the passing of time."

"But wouldn't that imply that while you can't help falling in love, you can climb out, bit-by-bit should you so choose?"

Red pressed his lips together, his brow furrowed in thought. "A few years ago, I was having lunch at a greasy spoon in Charleston, South Carolina. On a wall in the restroom, someone had written, 'whatever you do, don't take my advice.' Easily my favorite restroom graffiti."

"Clever," she replied dryly. "Message received."

"Lizzie, I'm sorry, but I'm unqualified to answer these questions. The heart can be a bastard. Mine certainly is."

"I don't believe that - not even for a second."

"That's very kind of you to say, but truth doesn't require belief, and disbelief has never disintegrated the truth."

Neither really wanted to have this cyclical argument that could easily go on for hours if pressed. Despite feeling patronized by his tone, Liz decided to drop it and change the subject. "Settled enough to go for a swim?"

"Yes. Give me five minutes. I'll meet you at the stairs." He pressed a kiss to her temple and left.

-...-...-...-...-

Red was already waiting for her at the stairs when Liz came out. She couldn't help blushing as he openly raked his eyes up and down her milky-white legs.

"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie... I knew this dress would look wonderful on you, but actually seeing you in it... good god."

"Why are you so surprised? Your fashion sense was never in dispute."

"Oh, I'm not surprised, sweetheart. I'm aroused." His eyebrows waggled mischievously.

"Actually, that reminds me of something that I meant to ask you while we were on our way here."

"Oh? That isn't the response I was hoping for after that declaration, but okay. Go ahead."

"Sorry, we'll come back to that in a sec! Before we got here, I had assumed that you sent Hastings or his wife to the mainland to stock up everything in my room, since our departure was so sudden. But if you selected it all, then you must have done so in advance."

He deadpanned, "Is that a question?"

"No, not yet," she chuckled. "But this is: When did you get all of that stuff, and why?"

"Let's walk and talk, shall we?" He held the door open and gestured for her to exit first. "The clothes came from all over the world during my travels in the last two years. Now, before you get weirded out, it isn't because I go shopping for you every time I'm away. I don't, but when I see something that catches my eye and makes me think of you, I buy it, and knowing that you wouldn't want to be showered with gifts, it all ends up here eventually. I wouldn't advise you to be particularly grateful. At the end of the day, I bought these things for my own benefit, simply because I could. I never really - I never imagined that you'd ever see any of it, much less want to wear it."

"A balm for yourself, my formerly-silent benefactor."

"Exactly."

"But Red... the lingerie?"

"Also for my own benefit. You don't really need me to spell that out for you, do you?"

Suddenly, Liz was inundated with mental images of Red holding a pair of lacy panties in one hand and himself in the other. Her breath hitched, and she looked up to see him staring at her intently, gaging her reaction. He knew exactly what she was thinking.

With more confidence than she felt inside, she hummed and spoke, low and sultry. "Well, now I almost feel guilty for not wearing it."

"We have plenty of time for that." Uncertain of her sincerity, the hand on the small of her back lowered, checking for panties that wouldn't show beneath the gauzy, A-line dress. He couldn't resist giving her ass a gentle squeeze while he was there.

Mercifully, they arrived at the beach moments later. As Liz unfolded and spread out the large blanket, she watched him disrobe, immensely grateful that he wasn't wearing his customary three-piece. She crawled towards the center of the blanket and rose up on her knees. Completely nude and taking his cues from her, he did the same. They sized each other up for a moment, kneeling and pressed together from their knees to their shoulders. When she placed her hands at the small of his back to pull him more tightly against her, Red frantically grabbed the hem of her dress and tugged it upwards, over her head, and off.

Both moaned at the sudden electric contact of skin-on-skin. Her mouth trailed along the length of his neck while her hands explored his back, pulling him harder and closer as his hips jerked forward involuntarily. His throbbing arousal pressed against her lower belly, torturously close, but not quite where she needed it.

"God, Lizzie..."

Their lips and tongues met in a languid, tender exploration that stood in stark contrast to the urgent movement of their hands and bodies. When they pulled back for air, their sweaty foreheads pressed together, Liz said, "So, you do know how to kiss softly."

She tried to press him backwards to lay down on the blanket, but Red held his position rigidly, and then with one hand cradling her back, attempted the same. She went down willingly, and then parted her legs as he settled his weight on top of her. With a gentle hand on her throat, he rocked against her, a slippery, sliding motion of steel against silk.

He pulled back a little, smiling down.

"What?"

"One second, sweetheart."

He crawled over to the bag at the edge of the blanket and pulled out the sunblock. "I believe I promised to do this for you."

"NOW?!" She may have been a little less than pleased.

"Have you looked at yourself? Your beautiful winter skin? We can't do this every day if we aren't careful, and if you've learned nothing else about me, then know this: I always take care. Always."

"Oh, alright," she huffed, resigned because he was right, but still annoyed. "You didn't have to get me all turned on first though."

He squirted a huge glob into his palm and rubbed his hands together. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm in no better shape than you are, here."

Propped up on her elbows, Liz lifted one foot and grazed it along his length, from base to tip, smirking at the hissing sound of air being sucked through his teeth. "It would be hard not to notice that."

He arched a menacing eyebrow and oh, she'll have to pay for that little move. "Lay down," he growled, so low that she could barely hear him over the sound of the waves rushing to shore.

Starting at her calves, he began to rub it in, slowly working his way up, kneading her muscles and turning the simple act of applying sunblock into a deep-tissue massage. All complaints died swiftly on her lips.

Heaven. Through closed eyes, it was all she could see, and all that she felt.

Raymond Reddington had magical, wonderfully-skilled hands, and by the time he'd made it to her thighs, she was making all kinds of exquisite, happy little sounds that, unbeknownst to her, were driving him mad. He parted her legs and kneeled between them, but as he began to work his way up from there, rather than crawling forward - as she would have expected - he hooked his arms beneath her knees and pulled her towards him.

And god. God, why was such a seemingly-small move so ridiculously sexy?

Fingers on her belly, splayed, and then digging in, just below the ribs. He chuckled when her hips involuntarily rolled, but she didn't mind.

Not yet, at least.

As soon as he reached her breasts, Red rose up on his knees and leaned forward, holding himself up with an arm strategically placed beside her head. He used the other to massage sunblock into one breast, the shoulder above it, and the arm below, gradually supporting himself less and less, resting more of his weight against her.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

He loved the unfettered exasperation in her voice.

"No, of course not, and we still have to do the other side."

As the words left his mouth, he winked and lifted himself back up again, earning a frustrated groan. He grabbed the bottle and this time, squirted the sunblock directly on her other breast.

"Cold!"

"Is it? Allow me to warm you up again."

After he finished giving the other side equal treatment, he ceased to hold himself up at all and used both hands to gently apply the sunblock to her face. The whole time, he steadily held her gaze, eye-fucking her without mercy.

Slowly.

So, so slowly

his lips descended upon hers.

With a little moan, he rocked against her, over and over, feeling her breath quicken and abs trembling.

Close. Already.

When her back arched, he released her lips with a 'pop' and pulled away again.

"RED!"

"Flip over. We still have to do your back."

She closed her eyes to conceal their involuntary rolling, but did as he asked, ending up flat on her stomach.

Both hands grabbed her hips and pulled them up with a grunt. "All fours." He slipped his cock between her thighs and squeezed them together before he began to massage the sunblock into both her back and the posterior surface of her thighs. He pressed forwards and pulled back again repeatedly, coordinating the motion of his hands and hips in a fashion unparalleled by any manner of planned choreography. As if that wasn't torturous enough, he hummed and moaned and DAMNIT.

Damnit, she'll kill him. She will.

"RED!"

He leaned forward enough to press his chest flat against her back, hooking an arm around her waist and lifting her up. "Okay, Lizzie," he whispered into her ear, "What do you want me to do now?"

"Me."

"Mmm with pleasure. I'll be right back."

He stood up and headed towards the water while Liz rolled over and stared, completely nonplussed. She opened her mouth to protest, but the view - god, the view of his nude backside in the foreground of a picturesque ocean landscape... no words. None.

He turned his head to look back at her, flashing a knowing grin. "I'm just rinsing off real quick. Something tells me that sunblock is only safe for external use, and I'd rather err on the side of caution here."

Oh. Good call.

True to his word, Red made quick work of rinsing off his hands and nethers before returning to her side on the blanket. With confidence, he bypassed a customary check for readiness, settling between her parted legs without further preamble. NOW. As he eased his way in, he shuddered and gasped. Bowstring-taut. Nerve endings exploding.

The stretching, slipping, and filling sensations. The salty sea air. Can they really do this every day? Is it possible to tremble to death?

She might. He might. It could happen.

Toes digging into the blanket and the sand below, she raised her hips and pulled him closer, deeper, and there, then. Right there. He stilled himself at the hilt and tried to wait until their mutual sense of urgency abated, but to no avail. Everything inside of them raged against stillness, screaming for friction.

And so he began to move with an agonizing slowness. Long, deep, and purposeful strokes. Through tightly-clenched teeth, he ground out, "God, Lizzie, you feel so incredible."

It took her awhile to realize that they were moving in time with the waves breaking over the shore. Forces greater than the sum of their bodies pushed them painfully close and then ripped them apart, over and over again.

Red began to fret over his stamina. Even at such a slow pace, she was clamped up tight and quivering around him, drawing him in and begging for release. He lowered a hand between them to coax her along, but she swatted it away. "Lizzie, you have to let me touch you," he begged.

"No, I don't."

"Yes, because I ca-"

She cut him off. "I'll come as soon as you do, so do it. I need to feel it, Red, please." Her lips sealed around his and swallowed the low moan that he couldn't suppress.

Mere seconds later, she felt the first pulse of his release, and her movements became frantic as she pulled him more tightly against her and squeezed around him. "God, Raymond, yes!" He rode out her orgasm, and then slowly pressed back into her a few more times while he still could, reluctant to withdraw.

After catching his breath, Red stood up and offered his hand, but Liz just shook her head. "Don't you want to take a dip and cool off?"

"Absolutely." Her lips stretched into a wicked, self-satisfied smirk as she rolled over to grab the sunblock. "As much as I love the freckles on your shoulders, it's your turn."

It may have been the last thing that he wanted, but in the interest of preserving the peace, he dropped to his knees and complied.


	10. Chapter 10

AN - Angst. It was bound to happen eventually, right? Don't hate me.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Disclaimer: all borrowed, nothing gained

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In the interest of minimizing communication with the outside world, prior to their departure, Red had instructed Samar not to contact him unnecessarily. After three days with no update, however, he and Liz began to worry. They should have heard SOMETHING by now... right?

On the fourth day, while enjoying a pleasant lunch outside on the back deck, she finally asked, "Have you heard anything from the taskforce yet?"

It was an honest question. For all she knew, he may have learned something troubling and then took it upon himself to shield her from it. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. In fact, Liz considered it part of his modus operandi for handling her, and she wasn't wrong about that.

How unfortunate, with all of the varied tastes and scents conjured by his voice, that none could distinguish a truth from a lie. Well... for all she knew, anyway. Perhaps a lie would be different. She seldom doubts that he wouldn't lie to her, but after days with her entire world limited to a vacuum of only Red, her agile mind had begun to root around in dangerous places. It was inevitable, really.

He gently blotted the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "Nothing yet."

"Isn't that a little strange? We wouldn't even know for sure that they collared Tom if Dembe hadn't told us."

"Aren't you glad that he stayed behind, then?" He deflected.

"Glad? I'd rather he be here."

For more than one reason, in fact. After Red implored her to live with them, practically couch surfing in their safehouses, she had continued to pay for the motel room. In hindsight, she found that decision regrettable, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. She needed a backup - a place to go in case Red drove her mad, and he very nearly did. Unfortunately, she hadn't anticipated her sudden placement on her employer's Most Wanted list. Consequently, the task of checking out of her motel room fell squarely upon Dembe's shoulders.

She and Red were already high in the sky when his right-hand man fetched her belongings. He probably wouldn't rifle through them on his own accord, but on Red's? He absolutely would. If so, then her secret is no longer a secret. She didn't even need that stupid notebook anymore, anyway. What a waste. The trouble was, she couldn't even bring it up without raising suspicion.

It weighed on her heavily.

"I expressly instructed Agent Navabi to minimize contact with us. Every phonecall is a traceable vulnerability, if only miniscule. No news is good news, Lizzie."

"Don't get me wrong. I understand your logic, and I appreciate everything you've done to help me out here, but come on. For all we know, they could have made her as our accomplice. I think we should call her."

"If she's been made, then calling is the worst possible thing that we could do."

"I can't stand not knowing."

His eyes narrowed as he stared at her without blinking. "Would I be correct to assume that if I refuse, you'll simply wait until you're alone and then call her anyway?"

"Most likely." She pursed her lips, frustrated that he knew her so well.

Idly tapping his phone on the tabletop, he replied, "Then I suppose that I have no choice."

He dialed Samar and switched it over to speaker phone, hoping that the small act of voluntary transparency would allay some of Liz's worry.

She answered on the third ring. "Reddington, what do you need?"

"An update on the taskforce's little manhunt, please, if you have one."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Any updates? Do you all have any leads?"

"Oh." She chuckled. "Are you feeling all right?"

Liz raised an eyebrow. He sounded just fine to her.

"Quite. So?"

"No double entendres? No sexual innuendos, either veiled or overt?"

Of course, Red is an enormously flirty gutterpunk. Liz has always known that, but to the extent that a greeting without innuendo is grounds for concern? She dropped one hand to her side so that he wouldn't see her balling it into a fist.

"Agent Navabi, do you have anything new or not?" Annoyance had crept into his voice.

"My apologies. I'm just a little surprised that you'd call after midnight." She laughed again, and then added, "Oh, I see what's going on here. You're actually getting laid now, aren't you?"

What the hell? Was phone sex part of their weird little arrangement? Why else would she say that?

"I take it that the taskforce still has nothing, then. From now on, if you could reach out to us every three days, Elizabeth and I would appreciate it."

"So it's Liz, then? Took you long enough..."

And as pissed off as she was in the moment, part of her gained a measure of satisfaction from knowing that she wasn't the only one with whom Red held multiple simultaneous conversations on separate subjects.

He huffed a booming laugh, as if Samar's assumption was painfully absurd. "You must be joking."

Liz abruptly pushed back her chair and stood up. She bit out her reply through gritted teeth. "Don't be fatuous, Agent Navabi." Without looking back, she made her way towards the door, leaving the rest of her lunch on the table.

"Liz... I didn't realize that you were on the line."

But she was already gone.

Red picked up the phone and turned off the speaker. "She just stepped out." He knew that he was in trouble, but he wasn't entirely sure why. He was just glad that Liz had somewhere safe to stew.

"Sorry... Is she mad?" Red ignored the question, and she quickly got the point. "Well, I'm not sure if this qualifies as an update or not. I had planned on keeping it to myself until it's confirmed one way or the other."

"I'm listening."

"Tom is trying to wrangle himself an immunity deal, in exchange for helping the taskforce track you down."

"Well, he won't get it, will he? He doesn't know where we are. He doesn't know anything."

"He dropped a few pieces of information that he shouldn't have known, and he claims to have more. Most importantly, he knows about Ressler's substance abuse issues, and he's starting to crack under the pressure. This wouldn't even be on the table if Cooper was still in."

"Is he still using?"

"Short of testing him, I can't be sure, but it's possible."

"Has Agent Mojtabai gone through his laptop yet?"

"No. Cooper has it, and he's keeping his distance. He won't return our calls."

"That's probably for the best, considering what Tom knows about you. Without that laptop, he has no proof. The only verifiable claim that he can make is about Agent Ressler's drug abuse, and only if he's still using. If he's really rattled, then I'd bet that he is."

"Hm. You're probably right."

"Therefore, he has two choices. He can either get clean or get out. Do you understand what I'm telling you? Whatever it takes to get him out of the taskforce."

Thank goodness Lizzie wasn't listening to this part of the conversation. She'd want to protect her partner, but the man isn't worth saving if he's seriously considering teaming up with Tom Keen.

"I do, but we might be missing a piece of this puzzle."

"You think?"

"The business of Tom's old Nazi gang. We need to know how Connolly called them off. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the one supplying Ressler with his oxys."

"That sounds a little too convenient, but it's possible. Maybe you should have that laptop, then. I'll try to get in touch with Harold."

He hung up and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. After downing the last of his scotch in a single gulp, he cleared the table and headed inside to wash their dishes.

Ordinarily, he would be annoyed that Liz had stormed off and left a mess, but under the circumstances, he appreciated the opportunity to ponder what she may have been thinking. Was she mad that he didn't admit to sleeping with her? And if so, why? Why on earth should Samar be privy to that information?

His Lizzie would never know just how hard he works to understand her inner machinations. He just wants to know her better, infinitely better. Every day, he's unsatisfied by his perceived failure at the task.

He trudged upstairs and knocked on her door, only to be met with radio silence. He knocked again. "Lizzie, may I come in?" But still, nothing. Tentatively, he twisted the doorknob, just to see if it was locked. It wasn't. "Lizzie, since you won't answer, I'm coming in."

He opened the door and felt the air suddenly sucked from his lungs, leaving them as bereft and empty as the room itself. Within a handful of seconds, he checked the bathroom and the closet. Since both her gun and cell phone were still sitting on the nightstand, it seemed unlikely that she'd left the house. He quickly left her room so that he could go check the others.

-...-...-...-...-...-

Liz needed some time alone, and knowing Red, since she'd stormed off, he'd be on her heels in a matter of minutes. Seeking to avoid him, rather than going up to her room, she kept moving forward, through the kitchen, the living room, and then back outside again through the front door. The previous day, Red had pointed out a trail that lead to a fresh water lagoon with a waterfall. At the time, she wasn't in the mood to check it out, but she could really use a new, beautiful view now. She found the path easily and kept her ears peeled for the sound of rushing water, but heard nothing over the ambient rainforest chatter and its ever-present taste of lemonade and grapefruit.

As she trudged along, leaves and twigs and crackling underfoot, she thought back to their conversation on the bench in DC. She still remembered his exact words. "For the record, my involvement with her is strictly professional, never carnal." That bastard. Even if he had somehow convinced himself that phone sex isn't carnal, it is in no way professional.

She would have forgiven him. She would have been jealous and upset, of course, but she would have forgiven him eventually, just the same... But he lied.

He lied, and now she knows that his lies have no distinct scent or taste of their own. What a shame.

In spite of her sour mood, when she finally picked up on the sound of the waterfall, her cheeks split into an ear-to-ear grin as she quickened her pace and it came into view. She took off her sandals and padded across the smooth rocks that lined the perimeter. Their coolness bore a striking contrast against the heated jungle air, but it was nothing compared to the icy blue water. Liz yelped when her toes skimmed the surface. More than surprising, it was actually uncomfortable, and she welcomed the short-lived distraction provided. She bent down to splash some of the cold water on her face, and then stepped back, onto the rocks again.

The only thing worse than Red's lie about Samar was the humor that he seemed to have found in the idea of her own relationship with him... because no, it wasn't really amusement. It was embarassment, poorly covered and deflected by humor.

But why?

Is it because she really is, in fact, an overly-elaborate means to an end? His living marionette? A creature so far below him that to insert himself within her is perceived as an act worthy of shame? This new revelation completely reframed her perspective of his reluctance during their first time. It had nothing to do with their professional future, or her mental state. "As many things as I'm willing to be for you, a 'regret' is not one of them," he said. He had taken his own truth and spun it around. How could she have been so blind?

Liz was suddenly pulled from her heart-crushed daze by the rhymthic crunching of leaves as something large approached her from behind. Startled, she spun around and came face-to-face with an elephant, standing a short twenty feet away. She screamed and quickly clamped a palm over her mouth to smother the sound. Her heart pounded in her ears as she tried to recall what Red had told her to do in such a situation, but in her panic, nothing came to mind. She reached for her gun, but came up empty.

The elephant stomped his foot once and repeatedly shook his head back and forth, dragging his trunk across the ground in front of him. As he began to move forward again, drawing nearer, she matched his steps, moving unsteadily backwards to maintain the space between them.

On the fifth step, she was back in the water. On the sixth, she slipped and fell backwards, letting out a small yelp. Time seemed to slow until her head struck a log with a sickening crack. The world faded to black as she sank below the water's surface.

-...-...-...-...-...-

After checking the rest of the house, panic swelled in Red's throat. He called his groundskeeper, Hastings, and asked him to search for Liz at the beach. Then, he took off towards the lagoon.

It was only a lark, since she'd never gone before, but if she wanted to get away from him that badly, she'd try to find a place where she wouldn't be found. At least, that was his best guess.

Like so many of her rash decisions, this one was dangerous. During the hottest afternoon hours, the lagoon becomes a hotspot for the wildlife that she so fears.

He moved as quickly as he could, lungs burning from both the stifling humidity and his gunshot wound, reminding him of his age. When he heard her scream, he feebly tried to call out to her, but his breath was too short. Consumed by pain and fear, he did the only thing that he could - continue moving forward.

When at last, the lagoon came into view, he saw only an elephant standing in the shallows, splashing at the water with its trunk. Where was she? Fingernails digging half-moons into his palms, his jaw dropped. "Lizzie!"


	11. Chapter 11

AN: ANGST IS RESOLVED by this chapter's end, FYI.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

Disclaimer: Nothing owned, and no profits.

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Expecting to find Liz pinned beneath the beast's feet, on trembling legs, Red approached the water's edge. It quickly became evident that the elephant wasn't merely splashing around. He was trying to help, scrambling for purchase of her limp form. He wrapped his trunk around Liz's waist and hoisted her up, only to have her soaking wet body slip from his grasp. Red dropped to his knees and caught her just before her head submerged again.

"God, Lizzie." Prior to this harrowing moment, she hadn't known that the scent of fear in his voice could be influenced by her own physiological variables. A banged-up head and lungs half-full of water did the trick. Her eyes watered as she sputtered and choked on both the water and the scent.

With a loud grunt, he threw her over his shoulder and trudged back to shore, powered purely by adrenaline. The elephant turned and followed, digging into his back pockets.

He lowered Liz to the ground and rolled her onto her side, kneeling in front of her. A nonsensical stream of reassurances that neither would later recall rolled from his breathless mouth. His voice strained, sounding as if he could smell the fear stench as well. Her eyes popped open and then widened horror at the elephant looming over them. "Shhhh... it's okay. It's okay. He's not going to hurt you." He reached into his pocket for his phone, to let Hastings know that he'd found her.

She winced and reached up to feel the back of her head.

"What happened, Lizzie?"

Her bleary eyes slowly met his. "I - I fell."

He gently followed the path that her fingers were tracing across her scalp. "That's a pretty big bump." Cradling the back of her head, he used the other hand to hold up one finger. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"One."

He slowly moved it back and forth. "Can you follow it with just your eyes?" She could. For a moment, they just stared at each other, both still reeling from a mixture of anger, panic, and relief.

"Can we just sit here for a minute?" She asked, hesitantly. There was a second meaning in her words - that she wasn't ready to talk about what had happened. Not yet.

He swallowed thickly and sat down beside her, drawing his knees up and clasping his hands over them. Trouble took a step forward and groped the back of his neck with his trunk, causing Red to shriek and vainly try to swat him away, giggling uncontrollably in spite of his mood. "Come on. St-stop it, you!"

"Oh my god, you're ticklish..." If not for her anger, she would have teased him, saying that she'd remember that for later. Instead, she kept the thought to herself, along with the realization that his little tickled shriek tasted like salt water taffy - an appropriately sweet and rare treat that's only encountered on special occasions. She would have liked to put the thought out of her mind, but it quickly spiraled into a fear that she'd never get to hear it again.

God damn him.

Tentatively, she lifted a hand to pet Trouble's trunk. She knew that elephants had hair, as mammals do, but it surprised her just the same. It was wiry and sparse, and had he gone for her neck, it definitely would have tickled her too. Thank goodness he didn't, because laughter would only bring more pain to her tender head. She wondered if he could sense that, somehow.

Trouble turned and went back to his original destination, the lagoon. Both watched as he waded out until he was chest-deep, drinking and merrily splashing about. For long minutes, they sat in pensive silence until Liz suddenly stood up. Without a single word, she made her way back to the house with Red close on her heels, keeping a watchful eye on her every move.

Feeling sticky and gross from her misadventure, she went straight to her room for a much-needed shower while Red headed towards the kitchen. Moments later, without so much as knocking, he let himself into her room and caught her half-dressed.

She slowly turned towards him and tried to hide her dismay at the intrusion. "Yes?"

"Water and asprin," he offered softly, leaning against the doorframe. He felt caught between his choices of action. Should he hold up the items and hope that she'd willingly take them from his hands, or should he approach and place them on the nightstand instead? The former may set him up for the indignity of being ignored, while the latter could come across as flip indifference. Decision made, he sighed and slowly entered her personal space, holding up the items, stubbornly keeping his gaze above her shoulders.

Just as he began to worry that she'd walk around him without taking the asprin, a faint flicker of gratitude graced her features. She complied without a 'thank you', but nodded her assent.

It was good enough, for now, because it had to be.

Red held his tongue and turned on his heel to exit. On the other side of the closed door, he held his breath in anticipation of her locking it behind him, but she didn't.

From the outside, his actions may have appeared like supplicating mea culpas, but it wasn't like that - no, not at all. He was frustrated, pissed off, and above all, exhausted. That granted him neither the license nor the ability to stop caring for her.

He trudged up to his own room on leaden feet and ruefully peeled off his clothes. Close examination of his pebble-grained leather, expensive Italian shoes revealed them to be in a sorry state, but he just shook his head. Shoes, no matter the cost, are easily replaced. Lizzie is not.

After a quick shower, he meandered back to the kitchen to wait for her. The water in her shower was still running, so it could take awhile, he knew. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if she stayed in her room all night. Liz wasn't above going hungry to prove a point. He glanced at his watch. 3:06. If, by 8:00, she still hadn't emerged, then he'd bring up her dinner. With a hand gripping the back of his neck, squeezing the tension, he poured himself a scotch and sat down at the table.

He was five shots in - more than he usually drank in a single sitting - when she finally padded in on bare feet, wearing pajamas. His tongue was well-lubricated for battle, but not dangerously so. "Elizabeth, we need to talk."

Ah, anger. The burnt popcorn taste made her thirsty in the worst possible way. She eyed the bottle of scotch, and without acknowledging what he'd said, picked it up and turned back towards her room.

He leaned forward in his chair, fingers laced with his elbows on the table. "If you don't want to talk to me now, then fine, but it would be stupid to drink that."

She whipped around and scoffed, "But you can?"

"I didn't sustain a concussion and nearly drown." His head canted with a mirthless laugh before adding, "Well, not today, at least, and you also just took a blood-thinner."

Her fingers tensed around the bottle, and her eyes hardened with indignant rage as she unscrewed the cap.

"Lizzie..."

In reply, she put the bottle to her lips and started to chug. Childish as hell, yes. Maybe she could later blame the fall for this stupid decision.

He expected her to stop after a single swallow or two, but after the third, he leaped out of his chair and rushed over to forcibly pry the bottle from her hands. "You've made your point. You're a grown woman and I have no right to tell you what to do. Fine. I get it, but right now, I'm doing it anyway. If you're so desperate to be angry, then go ahead, but I'm not going to sit back and watch you nearly kill yourself twice because you'd rather do that than tell me what's wrong."

She cringed at both the burning in her throat as well as his tone. Pathetic, yes, but driving him to such a state gave her a small degree of satisfaction. She sloppily wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her pajamas and defiantly met his eyes.

"Tell me what you're thinking." It came out as a request, not a demand. As usual, he wasn't sure how to handle her.

"If you must know, I'm berating myself for getting so emotionally involved with you."

Red couldn't even recall how it felt to not be emotionally involved with her. She was inextricably woven into him in every imaginable way. His jaw tensed and lowered, exposing his bottom teeth. "I told you that I would be anything for you, except a regret."

"You also told me that your relationship with Agent Navabi was strictly professional."

"And it is."

"Then why was she so surprised that you were calling about business after midnight? If it's all business, then why was she expecting something else?"

He twitched against the impulse to roll his eyes. "I couldn't say for sure. You'd have to ask her that."

"And then, her immediate assumption that 'you must be getting laid'. You know how that sounds? Like she was expecting phone sex, and like she was theorizing why you had suddenly gone off-script."

"Seriously?"

If she didn't know better, she'd think he was offended.

"Maybe you're so promiscuous that phone sex doesn't mean anything to you. There's no touching involved. I wouldn't like it, but I can see why you might feel that w-"

He interjected, "So first I'm not getting laid, and now I'm promiscuous? I believe the two are mutually exclusive."

As if he hadn't interrupted, she continued, "But unless she's a prostitute and you're her pimp, that isn't 'strictly professional' now, is it?" She began to feel a little dizzy, as if she'd been subconsciously holding her breath.

"Lizzie, just as I said, no sex of any kind. Not ever. I'd confess to my propensity for lascivious remarks in conversation, but you already know about that. Did you not hear that she was surprised that I didn't make one?"

"You're suggesting that she made some grand leap of logic from 'you're not being a creep' to 'you must be getting laid'."

"'A creep'? Is that what you think of me?"

"As of today."

"Maybe I am, but I've never lied to you."

"Oh, poor Raymond, always stuck in the impossible position of having to prove a negative." Suddenly, her dizziness doubled. Her eyelashes fluttered as her peripheral vision faded to black.

"Oh please. That's a cheap sh-" Red began, but cut himself off when he saw her sway. He reached out to catch her just before she fell. "Lizzie!" He hoisted her up and carried her over to the living room to gently lay her down on the sofa. "Lizzie, can you hear me? Say something!" His fingers ghosted over her cheeks, brushing aside the strands of hair that had fallen across her face.

Long seconds later, the scent of his fear made her come to, not the volume of his voice. It burned as if he'd broken an aromatic ammonia capsule under her nose. When her eyes popped open, they'd already begun to water. Recalcitrantly turning her face towards the back of the sofa, she muttered, "Why do you always have to rescue me?"

"A very stubborn and beautiful young woman once told me that when someone does something nice for you, you're supposed to say 'thank you.'"

Well played.

In her mind's eye, she could see perfectly the smug little grin on his face. He had folded when she spoke the words to him, and now she'd have to do the same. She brushed the tears from her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and turned to look at him. If he had been smiling, there was no trace of it now. He gazed at her openly, expectantly.

Honestly.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He paused and looked down at his hands. When he looked up again, his eyes had hardened. "But never again."

"'Never again' what?"

"We both anticipated your becoming angry with me for one reason or another. I gave you a safe place to go, and you intentionally disregarded it in favor of taking off into the forest - of which, I might add, you were very much afraid, only days ago. And why? To spite me. To prove that you don't need me. Lizzie, I'm not intentionally forcing you to rely on me, but after you shot Tom Connolly, you called me for help. I immediately dropped everything to do exactly that, for you. Do you think I'm enjoying this?"

"I think - I think that there are certain things you've enjoyed..." She trailed off, her meaning crystal clear.

"Yes, immeasurably, but that isn't what I meant. If you want to hurt me, I'd much rather you scream at me and berate me than pull a stupid stunt that could get you killed. I'll give you a free pass on this one, because I know that in both direct and indirect ways, the turmoil in your life is my fault, but as I said, never again... never, ever again."

She glumly nodded her assent.

"And if you want to get drunk, then you can get drunk, but not tonight."

"So, you and Samar, you really never..." She couldn't even bring herself to say it again. While it's true that proving a negative is hard, she could no more easily prove the opposite. Sure, she could ask Samar, but to what end? Liz trusted her no more than Red.

"Never."

She reached up for the back of his head and pulled him in to nuzzle his cheek, deeply inhaling the delectable scent of his aftershave. "I'm sorry," she whispered into his ear.

"I'm just glad that you're safe."

She closed her eyes, sighing in relief, and Red placed a soft kiss on each eyelid before pressing his lips to hers, harder than he intended. In doing so, he finally managed to convey just how hurt he had felt.

"I don't know why I lose control like that. My imagination just takes off at a dead run."

"Well, at times, your volatility is one of the things I love about you. We suffer few banalities. Good or bad, from my perspective, there's never a dull moment between us."

At his choice of words, her heart began to soar. _One of the things that he loves_. Not likes. Not appreciates. Not enjoys, but **LOVES**. And only one thing, among others, but is it many others, or just a few? She bit back the urge to ask for another example, instead refocusing her efforts on pulling him in for another kiss.

And then another still. A longer, deeper, harder kiss.

Within seconds, she'd managed to draw a needy little whimper from his lips. It was a brand-new sound with its own new taste and texture - a light and fluffy vanilla cream cheese frosting. She immediately felt woefully deprived of it, half-starved and desperate for more.

Without breaking the kiss, she gripped his shoulders and used them to pull herself up, first to a seated position and then standing. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tightly, still reassuring himself that she was really there. Her own arms frantically moved around and grabbed every piece of him that she could hold.

Both found themselves too swiftly carried away, desperate to be closer and closer than humanly possible. They moaned in tandem when she felt his arousal pressing torturously close to her core, hips jerking forward.

But as quickly as they had started, Red stomped on the brakes. He pulled back, panting, while his heart ticked like a bomb in a birdcage. "I want this more desperately than you know, but it's too risky to get your blood pumping too hard right now."

She grabbed his ass and pulled him in to grind against her briefly, "I think I know exactly how much you want this."

"That isn't what I meant, and you know it."

Yes, but she wished that he had.

"Yes, I suppose I do. You're right." She pressed her lips together, pouting.

"How about dinner instead?"

"Sure... since we can't have sex, and I can't get drunk, dinner sounds like the only thing you'll let me swallow."

His tone was smooth white chocolate when he replied, "So you'd like to swallow? I'm definitely filing that one away for later."

That happy little dancing arch of his eyebrows would surely kill her one day.

-...-...-...-

AN: The 'heart ticking like a bomb in a birdcage' line is from a song called 'If I had You', by A Fine Frenzy.


	12. Chapter 12

AN: Sorry for the wait. It took me awhile to get this chap worked out in my head. It's mostly transitional - just Red and Liz spending an afternoon on the beach, working on their communication and making plans for Dembe's arrival. ***Oh yeah, and there's a brief-but-hot, smutty, M-rated interlude.*** So, consider yourself warned.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! I know the plot is kind of all over the place in terms of pace and direction, but I'm sincerely trying to take all advice to better this story as well as the overall quality of my writing. There's always room for improvement.

Disclaimed 100% No rights or profit for anything.

-...-...-...-...-

Over the course of the following week, while the nasty bump on her head healed, Liz made a genuine effort to improve communication between herself and Red. More often than not, she found it frustrating as hell. The only thing that had really changed was that she no longer blamed him entirely for the walls between them. It was her fault, as well.

Despite the fact that Red had claimed that there was never a dull moment between them, as time slowly ticked away in his tropical oasis, Liz began to wonder if he was on the verge of changing his mind. She knew that his heart harbored a pathological wanderlust. He never stayed in the same place for this long.

One particularly hot afternoon, both were naked and sprawled out across a blanket on the beach. The bright sunlight reached down to mark them both with freckles - more than Liz had ever had in her life. She loved their little smattering across Red's arms and his lower back, but he was absolutely enthralled by hers. Idly tracing over the ones on her cheeks, he mused aloud, "You know, your skin is always beautiful, but your summer skin, ah... surprisingly exotic and adorable all at once."

"Exotic? Really?"

He smacked his lips. "Mm, yes."

"Are you sure you didn't mean to say 'erotic'?"

"Would that make more sense to you than 'exotic'? Don't get me wrong. 'Erotic' works too. Actually, you'd be surprised at some of the things that I find erotic..." He trailed off, wearing a cheeky grin that her closed eyes couldn't see.

She waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, she huffed, "Well?! Surprise me, then. You can't just leave that thought hanging."

"Oh, fine... one is the way that, when you perspire, the sweat beads up along the protrusion of your clavicle. It's just the most perfectly elegant highlight in a moment when you're likely feeling the opposite. Similarly, when your cheeks are flushed, usually from the cold. You could be covered from head to toe, with only your face exposed, and it still drives me mad. Erotic as hell."

"Oh, please. That's hardly unusual. What man doesn't get turned on by that? Blush was invented for a reason."

"I thought it was for highlighting cheekbones."

"That, too."

"What about this, then? When you're trying to get something that's nearly out of reach. You're on your toes, arms up, unintentionally showing off every delightful curve of your body. Or even better, if your shirt happens to ride up in the process, exposing just a tantalizing bit of skin."

She slapped his hand. "I knew it!"

"Did you?"

"Yes! At least, I suspected it. You always jump to my aid for almost everything else, but when I can't reach something, you're perfectly content to sit back and pretend that you aren't watching me struggle. Should I chance a glance backwards after I've succeeded, the look on your face can only be described as 'crestfallen.' You'd happily watch me struggle all day."

He chuckled. "Guilty as charged."

"Eh. I'm still not surprised, and don't take this the wrong way, but I'm expecting something legitimately weird. I may not know what they are, but I imagine that your kinks are many and varied, so... what else do you find surprisingly erotic?"

He was bound to turn the question around on her at any moment, and she wanted to milk this for all it was worth before he did.

"Impulsive, destructive acts of aggression - for example, that time you stabbed me with a pen. God, you came much closer to killing me than you knew. My heart was pounding, blood valiantly pumping - All of it beyond my control."

"Is that why you grabbed my hand and held it there, to prolong the moment?"

He shrugged, suddenly sheepish. "Perhaps a little, but mostly it was to keep you from pulling the pen out. Better to keep the hole plugged."

"Okay, that one _did_ surprise me... but I'm a little disappointed, to be honest. I thought I was such a badass after I did that. Knowing that it turned you on is... diminishing, somehow."

"Oh no, believe me, it was very, very bad..." He said in nearly his lowest, most rumbling voice. Damn him, leaning over her and doing that, but at least her synesthesia was helpful in this circumstance. The delightful taste of that tone made her salivate, counteracting the dry mouth that sudden, nervous arousal would otherwise cause.

There was no hiding the involuntary hitch of her breath, and it was just enough to make him ask, "So... anything unusual that you find erotic?"

"Mmm... Nothing that would surprise you, I think."

"Now THAT surprises me."

Of course it's his voice, above all else, and while her reasons for that extend beyond the unsurprising, her intent was still to hold on to that.

"How come? I've always considered myself fairly vanilla. Have I said or done anything that would imply otherwise?"

"Not exactly. I wouldn't want you to take this the wrong way, but... your hostility is just a barely-concealed form of foreplay. You're a horny, insatiable minx. I could smell it the second you walked in. In turn, you're a little more tuned-in to the eroticism of things for which so many others are oblivious."

Wait wait wait. _Smelled it on her?_ Was he taunting her? Baiting her? Fishing for a confession? DOES HE KNOW? Ugh, that fucking notebook...

She took a deep breath and tried to suppress the panic rising in her throat. He probably wasn't being literal. "You mean at the post office?"

"Mmhm."

"I would have said the same about you, that day."

"And you'd be right."

At that, they fell into a comfortable silence. Liz even began to think that she was off the hook.

She wasn't, of course.

"You can't just say 'nothing surprising.'"

"Okay, then... It's mostly just little _details_ that I find unusually erotic. Things easily overlooked."

He hummed and smacked his lips in glee. "Now we're getting somewhere. Give me five examples."

"No fair!"

"Please?"

She kept her eyes closed against both the sunlight and his inevitable puppy dog expression. "Fine... One is long eyelashes."

"Why?"

"I think that it's about their soft delicacy - their vulnerability. Yours for example, when we kiss, I can feel them ghosting over my cheeks. And if the lighting is just right, and I'm standing at your side, then I can see all of the infinitesimal gaps between the individual lashes, with the light shining through, and they're golden. It's not entirely dissimilar to the view from Hempstead's window."

Red grinned smugly and rolled them into a spooning position. With a steady grip on her hips, he proceeded to plant feather-light kisses along the nape of her neck, making sure his eyelashes made contact with each one. In spite of the sweltering heat, she shivered under his lips, and he tightened his grip in anticipation of her starting to squirm.

"Number two?"

"Rolling up your sleeves, right before you get down to business. Even when I already know why you're doing it, I just get this feeling of anticipation, like I can't wait to see what happens next."

"My sleeves? Aw, I can't do that one right now." He then moved to the side of her neck, still making use of his eyelashes. "You know, you don't have to list things that apply to me specifically."

The rather inconvenient, albeit honest truth was that in that very moment, she couldn't even think of anything that didn't apply to him.

"Then just assume that when I say 'you', I don't mean _only_ you."

"Hm, nevermind. I take it back. I'd rather keep thinking it's only me."

"Hah. Of course you would. Another is the change in your gait when you're walking with both hands balled up in fists and stuffed into your pockets."

For several long seconds, Red was silent, but he kept kissing her. She wasn't even certain if he'd heard the last one. Finally, he said, "How does it change?"

"It's - It's just... different. Deliberate and leisurely all at once. Dichotomous. Your heel hits the ground first. Kinda jaunty."

"Four, please."

She sighed, sorely regretting her decision to raise the question in the first place. So many other things have a similar effect, but they're mostly quite obvious, and she couldn't imagine him not being aware of them already.

"Cigar-smoking, with panache."

He chuckled, blowing surprisingly-cool air across her neck to make her shiver again. "I've heard that one before, and it isn't unusual. Is there anything more phallic than a cigar?"

"It's more about the panache than the phallicism. Anyway, is that why you were outside smoking when I was leaving to meet up with Tom that night?"

"How very presumptuous, Lizzie. Perhaps subconsciously, but not on purpose. Mainly, I was satisfying an oral fixation, but anyway... next, please."

"I believe the term for this one is 'eye-fucking.'"

"Ooo!" He laughed, shaking his head. "That sounds painful."

"I'll try to rephrase. Uh, an _aggressive eye_, then."

"Yeah, that sounds better. How does that work, anyway? Do you mean overdoing eye contact?"

"That too, but more of a laser-like, penetrating focus. Looking at me like you're thinking of twenty different ways to take me, all at once."

"I look at everything like that." His hands left her hips and wandered to her thighs, making her back arch in appreciation.

"Don't think I haven't noticed."

"But usually that isn't what I'm thinking."

"That... surprises me."

"Except when I'm looking at you. Ah, actually no. I typically have only one fantasy at a time playing out in my mind. But that's still 'eye-fucking,' isn't it?"

"It is."

"I'm tempted to ask for a sixth thing. This is fun, but what I found most surprising is what you didn't say."

"Oh?"

"You seem to have a very keen sense of smell. I suspect that I catch you sniffing me almost as often as you catch me eyeing you aggressively."

She wondered if, while they were so close together, he could feel the way her stomach dropped at his words, but she tried to play it cool, pausing briefly to mentally talk herself down. As far as Liz could tell, she'd calmed on the sniffing considerably. Besides, the delicious scents, tastes, and textures conjured by his voice are _heard_. He can't possibly observe it happening to her, can he? That's why no one has figured it out before.

"Erotic as your aftershave may be, that's hardly unusual."

"Yes, but I don't think that's all."

"Your cologne too."

"That also isn't what I mean."

If he kept this up, her elbow would likely soon fly backwards, and she couldn't guarantee where it might land.

"Then why don't you tell me what you do mean, Red?" The stifling heat shortened her patience, giving her words a sharper edge than she'd intended.

"Whoa, whoa. I'm not trying to make you mad. It's just that I've wondered if you have some kind of pheromonal sensitivity. Most people are unaware of the subtle scent of oxytocin, even while it's affecting them. You seem a little more clued-in."

What a delightfully convenient and innocent explanation, and she didn't even have to come up with it on her own. Very pleasing. Poor Red, though. He really had to have been thinking it over to come up with that explanation, and she had to hand it to him. It made sense.

"Perhaps a little, but first of all, oxytocin is not a pheromone. Secondly, what makes you think it's that, rather than your aftershave or cologne?"

"Well, come here," he said, so she rolled over to face him. His voice lowered, drawing the words slowly, "Do you smell either now?"

Liz took both of his hands and laced their fingers together, effectively immobilizing him. She leaned forward and planted a line of kisses from his shoulder to the crook of his neck, where she inhaled deeply.

"Hm. Can't say I do..." She pressed her lips to his and squeezed his hands before adding, "But you do smell very cuddly and yummy."

"Mmhm. Because I'm not wearing it, and yet... you seem quite enthralled."

"And you seem quite full of yourself."

"That's a shame. I'd rather you be full of me. That said, whether it is or isn't a pheromone, my cologne has oxytocin in it too."

"Raymond, Raymond, Raymond... that's a bit of a dirty trick. Don't you think?"

"Perhaps. It was Mr. Kaplan's idea. I don't think it's hurting anything, do you?"

"The APA hasn't come to a consensus about whether it's effective or even harmful, long-term, but it's often prescribed to people with autism, as an aid for social interaction. Is it meant to influence me somehow?"

"It's supposed to influence me, actually."

"Well, first you theorize that I have some kind of super sense for detecting it, and then you tell me that it's in your custom-blended cologne. What did you expect me to think?"

Her words may have appeared sharp on the surface, but her tone stayed low and even. She just wanted to understand his motives. She can burn and soothe simultaneously, now.

She'd learned that from him.

Red spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I can find joy in many things, but even at its fullest, joy is fundamentally ephemeral, and anyone can experience it, even if only infrequently. Happiness... that's far more elusive. I have few reasons to be happy. I don't expect a little oxytocin in my cologne to make a noticeable difference, but as you know, I'll try almost anything at least once."

"Well, you have me."

He grinned broadly. "And now I know that it isn't because of my cologne."

"That's nuts."

"No. That's a miracle."

The twinkle in Red's eye preemptively gave away his next move, but that didn't stop her from gasping. He grabbed her hips and pulled her on top of him as he rolled onto his back and captured her lips. Their bodies, already slick with perspiration, slipped against one other gracelessly. He grabbed her ass to pull her more tightly against him and traced across her clavicle with his tongue.

In only a few short seconds, he was hard and moaning for her - attempting to plunge into her by guiding her hips forwards and then back. She gave in to the urge to torture him for a moment, sinking her teeth into the scar on his neck and angling her hips to thwart his efforts.

Soon however, she pushed up and braced her hands on his shoulders, allowing him to reach between them to guide himself home without fumbling further.

He bucked upwards once and held himself there, hissing through his gritted teeth. "God, Lizzie, you're burning me alive."

Not for the first time.

"Always!" she cried out. The heat kept her from wanting to maintain a leisurely pace, and so she began to ride him fast and rough, practically racing him to the finish line.

Their flesh made obscene sounds, slapping together with every rock of her hips, and it had the flavor and smooth texture of raspberry sorbet on her tongue. When she kissed him, she imagined herself generously transferring the flavor - sharing her gift so that they could relish in it together.

Red kept his hands on her hips, steadfast until her mouth dropped open and she screamed his name, shuddering from head to toe. He immediately let go too, hips bucking wildly as he groaned and emptied his pulsing release inside of her.

Breathing heavily, she collapsed against his chest and nuzzled his sideburns. "I could really go for a swim now. How about you?"

"Let's!"

They swam out past the breakers, where the water's motion was more gentle. Like a pair of otters, they floated on their backs while holding hands, not allowing the current to pull them apart. Out of the blue, Liz suddenly remembered Red's story about being bitten by a reef shark, and his mention of the island's beautiful seascapes. She had to speak loudly in order to be heard, since their ears were submerged in the water. "Where are the coral reefs, anyway? Are they right under us?"

It probably didn't matter. She couldn't imagine that the sharks dwelled exclusively within the reefs.

"They aren't directly under us, no." He replied, squeezing her hand as if he'd followed the trajectory of her thoughts.

"Then where are they?"

"Well, several spots, but none directly in front of the dock, and they're a little further out."

"Do you have scuba gear?"

"Some, yes. Are you thinking about giving it a try? I'd have to insist on wearing wetsuits."

She wasn't quite so afraid of sharks that she could see, although Red no doubt had seen the one that bit him. Not knowing what swam below was more nerve-wracking than anything else, to her.

"I think we could use the adventure. I know I could."

"Do you mind waiting until Dembe gets here? He'd be heartbroken if we went without him. I could show you a thing or two, but he's the scuba master."

"_'Scuba master?'_ Really?" She laughed. "No, I don't mind. Will that be soon?"

"His words, I assure you. He's arriving in three days. That's quite perfect, actually. We have to take the boat to meet him in Danao City, anyway. We'll pick up your gear while we're there."

"You mean that in all of your travels, you've never come across a wetsuit that made you think of me? We'll actually have to buy one?"

"Shocking, isn't it?"

He let his feet drop and began to tread water, prompting Liz to follow suit.

"I have an awkward question," she began, tentatively meeting his eyes.

He chuckled. "Yes, I'm sure you do."

"You're offering to buy it for me, right?"

His grin sparkled as he leaned in to plant a tender kiss on the corner of her lips. "I'm not letting Donald nab us by getting a flag on your debit card, if that's what you're worried about."

"I just had to be sure."

His smile slowly faded as his gaze drifted past her face and over her shoulder. Liz worried her lip and palmed the back of his head, directing his eyes back to hers, silently awaiting whatever awful thought had just crossed his mind.

"I should have told you sooner," he began.

"Told me what?"

"I'm happy to buy your gear for you. I'm happy to buy anything and everything for you, in fact, but you do have safe, liquid assets."

"What do you mean? What assets?"

"When I found out that Sam was back to grifting, I set up a Swiss account under one of his aliases, Franklin G. Mathias, to help cover basic living expenses. He was all you had. If he got himself thrown in jail..." He shook his head, reliving the old worries. "I made regular deposits, and the money piled up. Outside of the occasional dire circumstance, he was too proud to touch it."

"You should have seen how angry he got when I started pulling jobs. He didn't blow up often, but wow, when he did..." She smiled fondly, sadly. "I had asked him to teach me, but he refused, so... you know me. I went out and did it on my own. Turns out I had a natural knack for it... when he realized that I was just going to keep doing it anyway, he let me in on it. He taught me everything he could."

"Oh, I know."

"So, you really did know about the manager at the drugstore."

"I didn't, actually, but I knew that you had stories. Whenever I find an opportunity to hear one, I take it. I'm sure you've noticed."

"You didn't believe me when I told you that I'd made it up."

"I didn't want to distract you from your objective by calling you out. You had enough on your mind without me drilling it."

"That must have been difficult." She moved in a little closer, letting her slowly-kicking legs entangle with his. "I could almost swear that you live to drill me, in one way or another."

He licked his lips and nodded, relishing in the salty taste of the ocean water. "That's a fair assessment."

They fell into silence, but Liz soon broke it. "So... the Swiss account?"

"After Sam died, I took his alias off of the account and replaced it with your name. Well, to be more precise, I took the liberty of making you a new identity - the same as I offer for my clients. You have full documentation as well as the funds, as Hannah Lisette Avery."

She bit her lip and nodded, soaking in the implications of his actions and trying to discern his reasons for not telling her sooner. With all of this, she could leave. She could make a go of carving out a new life on her own, without him. He must have been afraid that she'd do exactly that, but she couldn't imagine herself doing it. So much of her life had been a lie, but just the same, all of the work that she'd put into it was real, and he was real too. She blinked several times in succession, keeping her tears at bay.

"Thank you, Red."

"I thought... I thought you might be mad that I didn't tell you sooner."

"I know you did, but you didn't have to tell me. You could have put it off even longer. I'm glad that you trusted me enough to come out with it now."

"I'm trying."

"I can tell, and in case you're still worried, I'm not planning to run away from you when we get to Danao City."

A beautiful grin bloomed across his cheeks. "You have no idea how happy that makes me."

She laced their fingers and squeezed, momentarily forcing them both to kick their legs a little harder. She leaned in and pretended to take a deep whiff of the crook of his neck. With a wink and a smirk, she replied, "Or do I?"


	13. Chapter 13

AN - This is a pretty long chapter, but I've really enjoyed writing it. The pace is a little different. It ends with a party for Dembe, with lots of wine and a little private dancing for Red and Liz. FYI, it doesn't quite venture into smut, but it does get sensual and Red says a few smutty things.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you guys like it! Let me know what you think.

Consider this officially disclaimed.

-...-...-...-...-...-

Three days later, they took the boat back to Danao City, where they were picked up by an extremely out-of-place towncar to meet up with Dembe at the dusty little airstrip. Liz awkwardly stood by while the men embraced, uncertain of how Red's best friend felt about her. He had barely looked at her when they left, and she still didn't know whether or not he'd read the notebook in her motel room. Much to her relief and surprise, he hugged her next. They'd never hugged before. "How are you, Elizabeth?" He asked. "You look very tan!"

If the hug wasn't soothing enough, the ginger ale taste of his voice had her perfectly settled. She smiled and quipped, "Being a fugitive has been surprisingly agreeable."

While they loaded his luggage into the towncar, she recognized her own duffle bag among his suitcases. "You brought my stuff. Thank you," she said, studying his face closely for clues, but his expression was impassive.

He shrugged. "I didn't know what else to do with it."

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

The towncar dropped them off at the marina, where they locked up the luggage in the boat, and then walked a few blocks to the dive shop.

Upon their arrival, the diminutive owner, Rizal, greeted the men by name and then enveloped them both in a three-way bear hug. They stood near the entrance, conversing in Tagalog while Liz leisurely perused the aisles and tried on a few wetsuits. She had already known that her gear wouldn't be cheap, but her mind was summarily blown by some of the prices, and it must have been written all over her face. Several times, she looked up and caught Red and Dembe exchanging amused glances at her expense, but she didn't much care. It felt great to see the handsome pair reunited.

After nearly an hour, she hauled her chosen items up to the counter, but Red shook his head in disapproval and turned towards Rizal. "Maaari ko bang hiramin ang susi?"

_Show off_, she thought.

Nodding, Rizal fished a key out of his pocket and pressed it into Red's palm.

"Come." He said, linking his arm with hers as he steered her through the aisles again, ignoring her suspicious side-eye while he grabbed several more things as they passed. "I know that you're trying to minimize expense by borrowing my extra gear instead of buying new, but I'd prefer that you didn't," he explained.

"Please tell me that you have a reason for that beyond a desire to spoil me with unnecessary luxuries."

"Oh, I do. Scuba technology has come a long way in recent years. Dembe could better explain how and why, if you must know, but the new gear is safer."

She shrugged. "If you say so."

"I do, and besi- " He stopped midsentence, sidetracked by something that had caught his eye. "Oh! He didn't carry these the last time I was here. You're gonna love this." He used the key to unlock the case and reached inside.

"A knife," she commented flatly, nonplussed and unimpressed.

"Not just any knife, Lizzie. It's a WASP knife." He held it up in the air and called out, "Rizal, ikaw ay may mga pating na kutsilyo. Ito ay kahanga-hanga!"

She shifted her weight and waited for him to explain the significance of such a weapon.

"It's for underwater self-defense. The handle holds a replaceable cartridge of compressed co2. If you stab something and press this button on the handle, it injects your victim with the gas at roughly 800psi, causing all of the organs around the entry point to instantly freeze, expand, and then explode."

"Holy..."

"It isn't labeled as such, but it's obviously intended for use in the event of a shark attack. What's even better is that after injection, because the wound is frozen, there's a slight delay before it bleeds. By the time it does, the gas has already caused the body to rise up to the water's surface, redirecting the attention of any nearby sharks, so you can get away safely."

Liz shook her head in amazement. "I've never seen anything like it..." She couldn't help the direction that her mind traveled from there, and Red's next comment proved that he was thinking the same thing.

"It works on land too. Goodness, if Tom ever crosses your path again, I have a feeling that he'll be extra sorry if you happen to be carrying one of these babies..."

Her eyebrows waggled. "Only if the arrogant prick has the stones to come within striking distance." If she gets her way, he'll be thrown into a maximum security concrete pit for the remainder of his life, but if Ressler is reckless and desperate enough to accept his help, then a future introduction to her WASP knife isn't out of the question. "Let's call Samar when we get back." Red had spoken to her at least twice since that first call, but Liz had intentionally made herself scarce during both.

It's time to get over it.

He looked at his watch and offered an apologetic smile. "It'll be around 3AM in DC when we get back."

"Shit."

"Would you please grab three of those boxes on the far left?"

"Are these the co2 refills?" He nodded. "Think we'll need this many?"

"Goodness no, not at all, but they're small enough to fit in the pouch on your weight belt, just in case."

"And the Concierge of Crime prepares for all contingencies." She leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his jaw. He'd taken a sojourn from shaving, and she liked the rugged look and texture that it lent to his polished appearance. Red, on the other hand, liked the way it made her squirm when he brushed his cheeks across her inner thighs.

He looked down at his shoes, the corners of his lips upturning only the slightest bit, and she knew that her words had sparked something within him - some sad memory of a time in which he wasn't prepared, and had suffered tremendously for it. He closed the glass door and locked it. With a jerk of his chin, he signaled her to follow him back up to the counter.

While Rizal scanned the items, he struck up a conversation with Liz in English. "First-timer? Are you excited?" He asked.

"I can't wait," she gushed.

"Make sure you see the Spanish shipwrecks."

She playfully elbowed Red's ribs. "Ray didn't tell me about those." His eyebrows raised in surprise. She almost never calls him that.

"I had my reasons."

"Safety-related, I'm sure."

"Yes, so? Shipwrecks are dark hideouts for all kinds of creatures that don't like to be disturbed. The reefs are brighter and more beautiful, like you."

"What?" Rizal asked, his mouth hanging open. "This adventurer? The man that snapped the neck of an armed robber and saved my life? The man with the stories about base jumping in the Grand Canyon and swimming in crocodile-infested canals? That rescues elephants from the filthy paws of an evil cartel?"

Red shrugged but said nothing as the man's eyes slowly passed between his own and Liz's several times and then widened, along with his smile.

"You are different now... You are in love!"

She would have given the world to see the look on Red's face in that moment, but standing at his side, she couldn't. She could however, feel his body stiffen considerably. Dembe's eyebrows lifted, secretly amused and trying not to show it.

"What's my total?" Red asked, clearly uncomfortable with Rizal's assessment, and her stomach dropped. She had to hold her breath and turn away to hide her reaction to his fear, for which she'd have once recorded in her notebook as a 'six'.

Why was he so afraid? Liz couldn't be certain, but she imagined that his reasons were linked to a very distant past.

Nonetheless, he took his hand in hers as he lead her out of the shop - whether in apology, reassurance, or both, she didn't know. _How strange_, she thought, to be fully engulfed by the heady throws of new love, constantly craving the other's touch, and yet still unable to even utter that four-letter word. It brought to mind a line from a Leonard Cohen song, and she had to bite her lip to keep from singing it out loud.

_Love is not a victory march._

Instead, it played in her head, over and over again, like a mantra.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

After a quick stop at the marina to lock up Liz's new gear in the boat, they walked to the bustling public market. The street traffic sounds of Danao City didn't taste like licorice, as DC traffic did. It was honey-roasted peanuts instead, which she found surprising but not unpleasant.

She pulled a folded-up piece of paper from her pocket and passed it to Red. "This is Vera's list," she offered, referring to Hastings' wife.

As vegetarians, they were mostly self-sufficient on the island. They had goats for milk, chickens for eggs, and the garden and orchard as well, both of which were plentiful. Whatever grew in excess, they either fed to Trouble, froze, canned, or fermented to make wine. Still, basic toiletries and other home goods were needed from the city. For the most part, they stuck to Vera's list, but curiosity for tropical fruits that she'd never seen lead to some extra purchases, and Red missed eating meat, so they stocked up on that, as well.

They left the market with their arms full, and stopped at a pharmacy for the last few items on the list.

On their way back to the island, it began to rain, and the skies refused to let up. They were hungry and tired and frankly, it was an overall-unpleasant ride. Red tried to urge Liz to seek refuge below deck, but she refused. Instead, she sat beside him while he steered the boat, under an awning that provided some degree of protection from the elements.

In matching yellow ponchos, Hastings and Vera met them at the dock, ready to help carry their bags back to the house. The heavy rain drowned out the usual rainforest canopy chatter, and though it was just as loud, the downpour somehow felt more quiet.

At the house, Red opened the door for Liz, and she was instantly taken aback by an aroma emanating from the kitchen. Her eyes practically rolled back in pleasure. Heavenly!

"We thought we'd have a little welcoming party for Dembe, starting with dinner. You guys must be starving." Hastings explained.

Her stomach reacted with an inaudible grumble. "Yes! Thank you!" She replied, grinning.

"You all go ahead and change into some dry clothes first. Shower too, if you'd like."

"Goodness, as hungry as I am, I really could use a shower. That deluge was no match for my sweat." She glanced at Red just as his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. That letch. She knew that he wasn't only hungry for food, but she wouldn't further delay dinner with a romp in the shower.

_Sorrynotsorry, sweetie._

He asked Hastings, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but do you mind cooking up one of these steaks while you wait for us? I've been craving one for at least a week."

"I haven't always been a vegetarian. Medium-rare steak is like riding a bicycle. You never forget how it's done."

Red gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Thank you."

-...-...-...-...-...-

The meal began in silence while everyone focused on their food. Halfway through, Dembe piped up, "Drunken American Pickers when we're done?"

Everyone laughed except for Liz. They might as well have been speaking in Tagalog again.

"Hey, it's your party and you'll pick if you want to," Red quipped.

Nonplussed and eyes narrowed, she asked, "Is that a game?"

"You and Sam did some picking back in the day, didn't you?"

"'Picking' as in buying and selling collectable or rare items from estate sales and swap meets?"

"Exactly that."

"But is it a game?"

"It's a drinking game that's centered around a show about picking."

"Oh..."

"Just wait. It's much more fun than it sounds."

-...-...-...-...-...-

After dinner, they retired to the living room, each clutching a stemless wine glass while Red also carried a jug of island-made bignay wine. Liz curled up and tucked herself against his side on the couch while Hastings and Vera took the loveseat. Dembe inserted the DVD and plopped down on the overstuffed recliner.

"Shall I explain the rules?" Red asked.

"Please," everyone replied in unison, drawing a string of giggles from their lips. They were already three glasses in.

"I could use a refresher," Vera added. "We haven't played in so long."

"As it's a drinking game, there are very few rules and only two objectives - to have fun and get drunk. When certain things occur, we all take a corresponding swallow. Still with me?"

"Yes. Now, what are these drink prompts?" Liz asked.

"I was just getting to that. You drink when: Mike says 'honey hole' or 'breaking the ice.' When Frank says "bundle". Every mention of freestyling, Indian motorcycles, antique gas pumps, or oil cans. The mention of Frank's cat or mother. The words 'rusty', 'dusty', 'pile', 'patina', 'treasure', 'sentimental', and 'valuable'... Red trailed off, trying to recall anything that he may have missed.

"That sounds like an awful lot of rules to me. How am I supposed to remember all of that?"

"I'll tell you what... If you have a good time, we'll be sure to write it all down before our next game... and you will have a good time."

"It's just so weird. I never really figured you for a TV person."

"I'm not. We don't even have cable, you know, but I like this show. They meet a lot of people that tell random and interesting stories."

She tipped her head back and laughed loud and hard. "Oh my god, they're you."

Since she couldn't remember all of the prompts to drink, during the first episode, Liz just paid more attention to her companions than the show. By the second, she definitely had the hang of it, but she could feel her cheeks burning hot, flushed from the bignay wine which was nowhere near as sweet as the fruit itself. It wasn't until she stood up that she realized just how drunk she was.

Shit.

"I'll be right back, guys," she said, and headed up to her room to change into something lighter - a loose turquoise, scoop neck dress that hung only a few short inches past her butt. She splashed some cool water on her face and pulled her hair into a high ponytail to keep it off of her neck.

She returned to find Red in the process of rolling up his sleeves, clearly feeling the heat as well, and she swayed on her feet a little as she approached. His eyes widened for a moment at the sight of her. "Lizzie, you look... that dress..." He swallowed thickly, so adorably affected that she had to grin.

They only made it ten minutes into the third episode when Dembe declared that he was ready for bed. No one blamed him. Jet lag is a bitch. Liz wouldn't have minded if he kept talking though. True, the ginger ale taste of his voice really only helped her stomach as a placebo, or perhaps as more of a Pavlovian response, but it worked just the same. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd gotten this drunk.

"It's great to have you here, Dembe. Sleep tight. We'll see you tomorrow," Red said, standing to give him a hug.

"Make sure you drink a lot of water before you go to bed, Elizabeth. We're not diving if you're dehydrated."

She donned a mock-serious face and saluted him, "Aye aye, Scuba Master! Goodnight!"

"I'm a little tired too," Vera said.

Red grabbed Liz's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Wellllll, I feel like dancing."

She's pretty sure she's seen him drunk before, but never happy drunk - only brooding, depressed drunk. The little slur in his words smelled of either cilantro or salsa verde. She was too drunk herself to discern between the two. Perhaps it was both, but either way, she found it invigorating. "Yes, let's!"

"I think we'll just head on back to our place, if you guys don't mind," Vera replied softly as she stood up, afraid to disappoint them.

Liz enveloped her in a hug. "No, it's fine. Thank you again for dinner, and the wine."

"Thank you for taking care of that list for us, and there's plenty more wine too. We have pineapple, rambutan, and even lipote. We just brought over the bignay because it's Dembe's favorite."

"I didn't understand everything you just said, but it sounds wonderful anyway. Goodnight! We'll see you guys later."

Red escorted them to the back door, and then returned to find Liz flipping through a stack of records. He had the Leonard Cohen album with the song that had been stuck in her head all day, but it was too bleak for the current atmosphere, so she shuffled it to the bottom of the pile, hoping that she'd remember it for another day. _Hallelujah_.

"What is it with you and records anyway?" She asked.

"Mmm? 'fraid I don't follow."

"I know you're the one that played the iPod for me in the hospital. You_ do_ know a thing or two about musical options beyond records."

"Can't you just take my preference at face value?"

No, never. Not with him. Not ever with him.

"Have you everrr known me to do that? As much as I love the polished exterior, I've long-since come to realize that digging is required for most ah... valuable things."

Pretending to be too focused on the task of choosing a record, Red silently ruminated on a response. His cheek-chewing tell gave him away. After setting the needle down on Coltrane, he replied, "Was that a deliberate choice, using a definite article rather than a pronoun?"

"Huh?"

"You love_ the _polished exterior, not _my _polished exterior."

"Uh.. I'm too sauced to discern the difference, but you already know how I feel about your exterior."

"Remind me, then."

"Fine, fine. Change the subject. I don't really _need_ to know, anyway." She could make a fairly educated guess. Watching him select a record and play it felt reminiscent of watching him get dressed. Ritualistic. She imagined that he found comfort in that.

In any event, it was a poor time to analyze the man. She had enough wits about her to realize that, but not enough inhibition to stop the runaway train that was her stream of consciousness.

She put her hand on his shoulder, and Red took the hint and followed suit, lightly placing his on her hip, lacing their fingers with the other. His rheumy eyes affixed a milky, penetrating stare, so intense that she had to look away after a few seconds. "I was expecting a tango," she said. "I don't really know how to dance to this."

"You know how to tango?" The corners of his eyes crinkled.

"N-no, not really."

"Ah. Just wishful thinking, then? Hmm... you're dancing just fine, now. Keep following my lead."

She recognized the song, Giant Steps, and it felt like a metaphor, like he had chosen it on purpose, thinking about the recent changes in their relationship - all of it nothing short of _giant steps_. It was the fast pace that threw her off, making her thankful to be barefoot. She stepped on his feet several times as the tempo swelled and shrank repeatedly, seemingly at random, but Red anticipated every change - must have had it memorized. Every time she stumbled or faltered, he tightened his grip and pulled her in more closely. The hand on her hip gradually made its way around to the small of her back, and then down to her ass - first on top of her dress, and then slyly sneaking up beneath it. "Relaaax, sweetheart. You're doing great. Stop thinking so hard. Just feel it."

Oh, she could feel it, all right.

He knew it too. Delighted in it. Began to fluidly move in ways that drew a series of tiny gasps from her lips.

Her head swam with wine and a full-on sensory overload. The clover honey taste of his low, seductive voice. The cilantro scent of his little drunken slur. His sneaky hand and his hard-on, so carefully pressed against exactly the right spot. The music. The sweat on his palms.

God. Everything. Equally electric and thrilling and terrifying.

The song was all of five minutes long, but by the end of it, both were breathless - more from what Red was doing to her than the actual dancing. She needed to regain a little control.

When the next song began, Liz suddenly pulled free of his grasp. "Hang on, I want to pick the next one." She dashed off towards her room while he lifted the needle and took out the record, curious to see what she'd do next.

"It stopped raining," she abruptly announced when she returned, clutching her iPod.

"Would you like to dance outside, then?"

They were just far enough from the rainforest canopy that her music just might drown out its droning sounds and citrus taste. "Yes."

"How about some candles?"

Raymond Reddington understands ambiance.

On the back deck, she helped him light them, and noticed that they were citronella beeswax candles. _How perfect,_ she thought, and pressed 'play'. Dissatisfied with the limits of the device's volume, she dropped it into his breast pocket and pulled him close, with one hand at the nape of his neck and the other combing through the short hairs at the back of his head.

_You moved like honey_

_In my dream last night_

_Yeah, some old fires were burning_

_You came near to me_

_And you endeared to me _

_But you couldn't quite discern me_

A slow, sultry song with moody, swollen piano. An unapologetic teenager with the voice of a woman. Lyrics that killed, killed, killed her every time, but never so much as in this moment, because this moment was about him.

And would he know it? Would she even want him to? After all of the thoughts that she had tried and failed to dismiss, *this* was the only one that took heed. Gone in the blink of an eye as she let herself be swept away.

"Mmm... this is very nice," he whispered, nuzzling the shell of her ear. "I think I've heard it before."

_Does that scare you?_

_I'll let you run away_

_But your heart will not oblige you _

_You'll remember me like a melody _

_Yeah, I'll haunt the world inside you _

_And my big secret_

_Gonna win you over _

_Slow like honey_

_Heavy with mood_

Shivers rolled down her spine. Seconds later, contagious like a yawn, it spread to Red. His fingers squeezed into the soft skin above her hips, and she thrilled at the slight, effortless power that her body had over him.

_I'll let you see me_

_I'll covet your regard_

_I'll invade your demeanor _

_And you'll yield to me_

_Like a scent in the breeze _

_And you'll wonder_

_What it is about me_

_It's my big secret_

_Keeping you coming_

_Slow like honey_

_Heavy with mood_

His breath still felt unbearably hot on her ear, though the shivers had stopped. Their bodies molded together perfectly through their clothes, and idly, Liz suddenly realized that neither were leading. They gently swayed as equals.

_Though dreams can be deceiving_

_Like faces are to hearts_

_They serve for sweet relieving_

_When fantasy and reality_

_Lie too far apart_

At the ripe age of thirty, she'd fantasized enough for a lifetime, she felt. She had Red in her arms and under her spell, and this is all real, now. Yet, in the sensory-overloaded haze of both love and lust, it retained a surreal, dream-like quality.

_So I stretch myself across like a bridge_

_And I pull you to the edge_

_And stand there waiting_

_Trying to attain_

_The end to satisfy the story_

_Shall I release you?_

_Must I release you_

_As I rise to meet my glory?_

No, never. Not ever. As if in answer to the questioning lyrics, she flattened one palm over his shoulderblade and pulled him against her more tightly - almost desperately.

He gasped and planted a sensual, open-mouthed kiss to her neck, slowly tonguing her carotid pulse before he pulled back just enough to speak, both lips grazing her skin with every rumbling word, "Sweet, sweet Lizzie... I don't know if I'll be able to make it as far as my bedroom to be inside you. I can dance, but I'm not sure if I can walk. God, what you do to me..."

Neither had any awareness of the music anymore, and the rest of the song played out unheard as their lips locked in a honey-sweet, languid exploration with an intensity that belied their most basic, pulsing needs.

_But my big secret_

_Gonna hover over your life_

_Gonna keep you reaching_

_When I'm gone like yesterday_

_When I'm high like heaven_

_When I'm strong like music_

_'Cause I'm slow like honey_

_And heavy with mood_...

Eyes locked and foreheads pressed together, Red gently implored, "Elizabeth, tell me your secret."

She captured his lips again as the piano signaled that the song was on repeat.

-...-...-...-...-...-

AN - Lizzie's selection is Slow Like Honey, by Fiona Apple, and if you haven't heard it, then I think you should, and you can easily find it on youtube. It's kinda funny because this fic was largely inspired by another one of her songs, called (I shit you not) Red Red Red. The referenced Leonard Cohen song is Hallelujah, most famously covered by Jeff Buckley.

I'd planned on having them all play a different drinking game, but while watching an episode of American Pickers, I had the sudden thought that Red would probably get a kick out of the quirky people that Mike and Frank meet. I made up the game and the rules because if such a game already exists, I'm not familiar with it.


	14. Chapter 14

AN- Red unveils his plans for clearing Liz's name, and she finally addresses the elephant in the room (no, not Trouble), incidentally uncovering yet another mystery for her to solve. The fluff might get a little thick, at times, and there's a bit of light smut at the end of the chap.

Thank you for reading and reviewing. I hope you all like it.

-...-...-...-...-

Liz woke from a dreamless sleep to unbearable brightness and Red's lips on her temple. "What time is it?" She asked, groaning and closing her eyes against the intruding light.

"Eleven AM." He gently combed his fingers through her hair. "You can stay in bed all day if you'd like. I just wanted to check on you."

"I think I'm dying." Not that she'd harbored any delusions of waking with a smile, but damn, it felt like her head was wedged between a rock and Trouble's foot.

"Would you like something to eat? Guayabano is great for hangovers. I can make you a smoothie."

"Sure, thank you. Just... not too big. I don't know if I'll be able to keep it down anyway."

"I won't take offense if you can't."

In truth, Red wasn't feeling much better off than she was, but he was far more accustomed to functioning under physical duress.

"I think I'll try to take a shower."

"Sure thing, sweetheart. Take your time." He kissed the tip of her nose and quietly slipped away to get started on her smoothie.

-...-...-...-...-...-

Thinking back on a spring break beach vacation that she'd taken in college, when she got out of the shower, Liz donned a blood-red bikini, and began to peruse her closet for a suitable dress to wear over it. Her hangover didn't stop her from sunning herself on the beach back then, and since diving was obviously out of the question, that seemed like the most viable option for the day.

The idea of wearing a swimsuit almost seemed comical, since her body sported nary a tan line. She even had to cut the tags off of the bikini before putting it on, but it felt like the right thing to do. Dembe would probably hit the beach with them. Part of her wished that she had the uninhibited sophistication to just go topless, French Riviera-style, but alas, that wasn't the case at all. Oh well.

When Red came in, smoothie in-hand, she was still standing in her closet, lost in thought. His surprised gasp at the sight of her in the bikini was audible, and painted a small smile on her lips. He wrapped one arm around her waist from behind, holding the smoothie just under her face with the other so that she could take the straw in her mouth. "Are you certain that you're dying? I only ask because it's awfully strange that a dying woman can make me feel so alive."

She took a sip and hummed in appreciation. "I may be on my way back to life, thanks to you." When the words left her mouth, she'd only been referencing the smoothie, but in the few seconds of silence that followed, it began to resonate with broader implications. She took the glass from his hand and turned around to wrap her free arm around him, resting her cheek against his chest without concern for the consequence of her wet hair. He was overdressed, anyway.

He kissed the top of her head and sighed. "Yes, me too."

"Help me pick out a dress."

In an instant, Red lifted the serious pall from the scene, pretending to be terribly put out by her request. "Must I?"

She matched his tone with ease, "I'm not leaving this room without one."

"Okay, okay." He pointed to a slinky, dark grey maxi dress. "This one."

"Are you sure that goes with a winter complexion?"

"Have I ever given you reason to doubt my fashion sense?"

She was still too dead to come up with an appropriately witty comeback. "I guess not."

Stepping back, he reclaimed his hands to clip the tags from the dress while she continued to sip her smoothie. "You should join us downstairs, if you're ready. Dembe brought a stack of newspapers from home that you'll want to read."

"Oh?" She slipped the dress over her head and inspected her reflection in the full-length mirror.

"You'd think that the cabal's biggest players would have made a little effort to better cover their tracks, but their stupidity is superceded only by their egos and false sense of invincibility. All hell is breaking loose."

"So... those journalists have already come through? That was fast."

"Mmhm, easily. The director banked on the assumption that I was bluffing. Very unwise."

Her bleary eyes already ached at the thought of trying to read the tiny newsprint, but that was no deterrent to her curiosity. "Well, this I must see."

Red smacked his lips and kissed her cheek. "That's my girl."

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

For nearly two hours, she poured over the newspapers, and all the while, her hangover gradually waned. Plastered across every front page was stories of former top government officials around the globe being indicted on all manner of unconscionable charges. Money laundering. Election rigging. Tax evasion. Human trafficking. Extortion. Treason.

Liz only managed to read half of the newspapers before giving up, burying her face in her hands. She was glad that the responsible parties were finally being held accountable for their atrocities, but the knowledge that they had ever occurred in the first place, right under everyone's noses, was an enormous weight.

Red's words from two years ago echoed in her memory_. "I'm here because you want answers to questions that you haven't even thought of yet." _

Well, it wasn't just her now, was it? Now, it was everyone in the world - everyone blindly accepting lie after lie, and most without any suspicion.

The Freemasons and the Illuminati had nothing on these guys. Washington DC should erect a monument in the name of Raymond Reddington, she thought. Knocking the cabal to its knees necessitated a revision of at least twenty year's worth of history.

Red wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest, making sweet little shushing sounds into her ear. "I know this is a lot to process, but it's nowhere near finished, and we're safe here."

"So what now? What happens next?"

"If you're ready to hear it, I think now would be a good time to debrief you on the taskforce's activities, and our progress towards clearing your name."

"What do you mean by 'progress'? We haven't even done anything yet..." She trailed off as it dawned on her. "We haven't, but you have."

"Yes."

She began to lift her head from his shoulder, but quickly thought better of it. Whatever he had done, it might be easier to explain without making eye-contact. "Okay, I'm listening."

With a glance and a slight jerk of his chin, Red signaled to Dembe to give them a moment a privacy. So many things had happened that he didn't even know where to start, but he took a deep breath and did his very best.

"Agents Navabi and Mojtabai finally got Tom's laptop from Harold. On it were a number of emails to and from Gina Zanetakos, and they've managed to track her down in Brussels."

"That bitch..."

"So, I gave them the green light to allow Tom to pretend to help find us, under the condition that their possession of the laptop remain secret, and that his immunity won't be granted until our capture. Everyone, Tom included, still believes that you have his laptop."

"WHAT?!"

"Shhh.. let me finish. We both know that he's only grasping for straws. Nothing has happened yet because he's still trying to negotiate a deal. He has no idea where we are, and they aren't letting him out."

"But still!"

"That brings us to Vanessa Cruz."

"The frame-up artist? What does she have to do with this?"

"Well, she didn't exactly 'escape' so much as 'get whisked away.'"

"By you."

"By my associates, on my behalf."

"Okay..."

"Seeing the value of her considerable talents, I paid a retainer in order to employ her in the future, should the need arise. It's important for you to understand that at the time, I didn't see any of this coming. I never expected to utilize her services so soon, but here we are."

"I believe you." She really did.

"For now, we have few details about exactly how she's doing it, and I can't even offer you an estimate for how long it will take, but she's working on framing Gina for Connolly's murder, and Tom as her accomplice. Typically, Vanessa orchestrates the events that set up the frame from start to finish. In this instance, everything has already unfolded, so it's a little more tricky."

They fell into silence for a few minutes while Liz processed the information.

"But Cooper saw me do it."

"Yes, but he's the only one, and his story - the one he's already given, is that although he was nearby, and you were the only other person that he saw in that area, he had missed the altercation. He ran in after he heard the gunshot, and then he heard two sets of feet running away. The implication is that you were actually chasing down the shooter."

"I'm sorry, Red, but that sounds flimsy as hell. My prints are on the gun."

"But it wasn't your gun, was it? It was Tom's. He claims that you stole it from him, but even Donald doesn't believe that."

"But _my _print is on the trigger!"

"Ah, yes, from your struggle to take Tom's gun from _her_ gloved hand."

"It's FLIMSY."

"Well, how about this, then? Right after you left Tom bound and bloodied on his boat, Gina found him, but rather than coming to his immediate rescue, at Tom's behest, she took a more cunning approach to the problem - leaving him there to support an ostensible claim of innocence. She made contact with Tom's employer, and he told her where to find Connolly. And killing him? If she didn't do it, then someone else would have, and soon. Neutralizing the taskforce was his responsibility, and he failed."

"But still, why wouldn't they just tell Gina to kill both me and Connolly?"

"You really don't know? Isn't it obvious?" His lips were pursed, genuinely surprised that she couldn't connect the dots.

"Just say it, Red."

"Because by going to Connolly, you presented them with the unique opportunity to take him out and have you arrested, all in one fell swoop. Remember that you had just uncovered proof that you were framed. They wanted you alive and locked up for a good reason - as bait."

Of course. "Bait for you."

"They know, perhaps even better than you, that if you were jailed, my mission would be to get you out, by any means necessary. If you were dead, I could go anywhere, do anything..." He stopped himself there, unwilling to speak the horrible truth that she may have already surmised. He needed her, and if she were dead, he'd have lost everything, including a reason to live.

She clung to him tightly. She knew. She knew and she didn't want to think about it. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, stifing the sob that threatened to escape.

"But I must have been caught on camera somewhere."

"Yes, but the actual crime wasn't." He was careful not to name her crime, still hated to acknowledge it for what it really was.

"And she was in Brussels."

"Like I said, Lizzie, I don't know the specifics about how she's going to pull it off, but she will. Until your name is cleared, we stay here. In fact, I think it's best that we don't even visit Danao anymore." She was silent after he said that, and it took only seconds for Red to become afraid that she may have been thinking about taking her new ID package and leaving. "Of course, if you want to go, I can't stop you... but then, I won't be able to help you, either."

Liz felt a rush of emotion for the man who had willingly pressed 'pause' on his own life in order to help her to reclaim her own. She began to press open-mouthed kisses along the crook of his neck. At first, Red stiffened in her arms considerably, but soon he shuddered and then relaxed under her lips. "Red?"

"Hm?"

"I don't want you to think that I'm just saying this because of what you're doing for me," she began tentatively.

"You don't have to say it."

She tightened her grip on his shoulders, more determined.

"Red, I lo-"

He interjected, "No, don't."

She closed her eyes and sagged against him, crushed. "Don't say it, or don't do it?"

He was silent for a long moment, trying and failing to temper his own feelings. "Both."

"Maybe you're afraid to hear it, but that won't make it any less true. You can feel it. I know that you can. And do you know what else?" She didn't wait for a response. "I can feel it too."

This particular secret wasn't a secret at all. It was as if Trouble had squeezed himself into the room, and they'd been going about their lives, trying to pretend that he hadn't. Such an apt name for this particular elephant. Liz was tired of pretending. Beyond tired.

"For you to feel that, Lizzie... it's the very worst thing."

"No, it isn't, and how dare you say that?"

"I'm saying it because it's true. No one has ever survived my..." He sighed and shook his head. "That. Not one person."

"Naomi Hyland is alive and well."

"Maybe, but Carla Reddington is gone forever."

"You know who else is gone forever? Masha Rostova. The little girl that you saved from the fire is gone for good, and the woman who took her place? No one gets to tell her, _me_, how to feel - especially you."

"I've completely ruined your life, and more than once. You're confused and clinging to what you know."

"Yes, what I know, exactly. I _know_ this."

"That's not what I meant."

"And yet it's true just the same. I don't need you to say it back, but I do need to say it, because every time you put yourself down or sacrifice yourself for me, _it hurts me_, and if you don't want to hurt me, then you need to know that. One of these days, you'll probably step into the line of fire before I can reach for my gun. If that day should come before I've managed to utter these words, then I won't..." She broke off and lifted her head to rest it against his, meeting his watery eyes, because she needed him to see the open sincerity that she was offering, whether he wanted to or not. "Then I won't be able to forgive myself."

Maybe she didn't _need_ to hear him say it. That much was probably true, but good god, she really wanted to, and not just for the usual, self-affirming reasons that any normal person would have. She wanted to know how the words would smell, taste, and feel. Perhaps they would simply blend in, indistinguishable from anything else, but Liz had a feeling that they wouldn't. Distinguishing wants from needs had never been her strong suit, but at least she knows desire when she feels it, and this one was particularly intense.

"Lizzie..." he pleaded, his fear so strong that she gasped and ducked, burying her face into the spot where he'd dabbled on his cologne, trying to drown it out. If she were still keeping her notebook, she'd note his reaction as off the charts. It took her breath away.

Refortified, she lifted her head to continue, "Maybe it threatens the fortress that you've so carefully built around your heart, but I know that no matter how deeply you've buried this desire, it's still alive within you. You're not a cave fish. You can feel the warmth, the light, every time I look at you, and when we touch, it's _the only thing _you feel, isn't it? And that's why you can't get enough. It feels better than good, better than right, and... And before you willingly step into the line of fire again, you should know that you really and truly are alive. You _are._ I can't escape from that understanding, and I'm not letting you escape from it either. Not anymore."

"Lizzie, you ca-" His lips quivered as much as his crumbling resolve. He broke off on his own this time.

"I'm going to say it, and if you want to try to interrupt me again, then fine, go ahead. I'll just say it louder and louder until you give up and accept this truth."

His chin dipped almost imperceptibly in either consent or surrender. _Okay_, it's a start. She hadn't expected him to make it easy, but she also didn't expect it to be this hard.

She leaned away and stood up, taking his hand and pulling him down the hallway, towards his bedroom. They were both on the verge of bursting into tears. Better to ensure their continued privacy first.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, Liz pressed against his solar plexus, pushing him backwards until he hit the wall, where she boxed him in with both arms. Her intent was neither a display of aggression nor of volatility. She just wanted him to really, really see how much she meant this - how much it mattered to her.

It was everything.

_He _was everything.

So, here goes nothing.

She took a deep breath and steadily held his gaze. "I love you."

From her lips, just like that, another line was gone - one that could never be redrawn. With the levy broken, Red trembled as his eyes slipped shut. He wrapped his arms around her and leaned against the wall for support.

She couldn't quite discern the expression on his face, but as a few tears slipped past his eyelashes, she kissed each one and punctuated it with another, "I love you," over and over again. He'd already accepted it, she could tell, but it felt so good to say it that she couldn't stop herself. Soon, she was crying too, but her lips were curled into a smile that he could feel with every kiss.

He opened his eyes and squeezed her hips, a silent signal for her to stop and meet his gaze. "I love you too, Lizzie. I love you so much."

_Oh..._

No scent, but it was very sweet, with a pleasantly chewy texture - one that compelled her jaw to move, working it over in her mouth, but goddamnit, the taste - _she didn't recognize it at all. _Perhaps she still needed that notebook, after all. For now, she redirected her focus back to the man who always puzzled her so effortlessly.

"I know." Her red-rimmed eyes were as bright as her smile, and in a matter of seconds, her lips were burning hot against his. His tongue pressed against her teeth, the roof of her mouth, the sensitive underside of her tongue - everywhere it could reach, just like his hands, which were eagerly bunching up the soft, slinky fabric of her long dress until it was up around her hips.

Sensing where he was going with that move, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist before he could lift her up, and he spun around to reverse their positions, pinning her against the wall with his hips.

Now that he'd finally said it, he too found it impossible to stop, but he couldn't stop kissing her either. His voice rumbled in her mouth and shook her to her core. It would have brought her to her knees if he hadn't been holding her up. Maybe he knew.

They broke apart, breathless, and Red held onto her hips as he lowered her back to the ground. Their mutual intent was to undress, but instead they found their lips locked once again, passing, "I love you," back and forth incessantly. The novelty of the words was so fresh, so thrilling.

No feeling competes with complete.

It was several long minutes before they broke apart, trying to undress themselves again, and this time to better effect. One at a time, as they were revealed, Liz dragged her front teeth across his tattoos. They were just tiny black birds, their wings in varying positions of flight, artfully scattered around his body. She'd counted them before - six in total. Whatever their significance, she had no idea, but they had to mean _something_.

She'd deal with that 'something' at another time.

For now, they scrambled to the bed. Red positioned himself between her thighs, rubbing against her, his lips twisted from the effort to maintain control, his eyes staring down in what could be best described as a mixture of disbelief and wonderment. He put most of his weight on his hips and moved forward, applying pressure to all of the right places as she trembled and stretched beneath him.

Liz had been correct earlier, when she said that it felt better than good, and better than right. Now that it was out in the open, they were further consumed by the ineffable, ecstatic sensation.

She grabbed his ass, trying to lock him in place. "Red, wait."

His, "Hm?" sounded more like a groan than a question.

"I need you to make me a promise."

He shuddered, slowly pulled back as far as her hands would allow, and then pressed all the way into her again. "Anything, for you. Anything."

"If Vanessa can't deliver a perfect frame on Gina and Tom, promise me that you won't do anything risky to clear my name. We'll find another way, no matter how long it takes. I'd rather be here with you forever than back at work without you."

She said it like it was easy, as if she expected him to agree just because she had him in a compromised position, but it wasn't like that at all. She had simply chosen this moment to convey her message with demonstrable clarity. _This would be enough, as long as she could have more - more of this, and more of him_.

She went on, "It's you and me now, okay? I love you."

At that, he finally managed to still his body, losing himself in her crystal-blue eyes. "You and me, I promise. You and me. I love you too."

Their lips collided as they began to move again. All the while, Red's words rolled over her tongue, the unknown taste a torturous tease. If the past had taught her anything, it was that she stood to suffer the mystery for a long time.

As crazy as that was, it only made her love him more.

-...-...-...-...-

AN: They never revealed why Red got Mr. Kaplan to snag Vanessa Cruz, as far as I recall, so I figured this was a good enough reason.


End file.
